


I Put a Spell on You

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Hocus Pocus (1993), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Halloween, M/M, ace Combeferre, i make no apologies, past Enjolras/Combeferre - Freeform, this is completely ridiculous and i got way too invested in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras doesn't believe in witches, until he wakes three of them from the dead. Hocus Pocus AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, this happened.
> 
> Thanks to rustyredux for advice and general happy flailing.

"And the legend says that the witches still lie in wait, needing only one unsuspecting fool to release them from their captivity. Haa!" Mrs. Nguyen let a crêpe-paper streamer fly at a girl in the front row, who screamed. A chorus of laughs followed.

Enjolras restrained himself to a silent eyeroll and turned another page in _A Tale of Two Cities_.

Apparently, the eyeroll hadn't been quite silent enough. Mrs. Nguyen cleared her throat. "Mr. Fauchelevent, I would have thought that, as someone new to the town, you would show more interest in our little history lesson."

He looked up. "I'd say it's more mythology than history. And I was under the impression that this was an English class anyway, so..."

"It's not mythology," said a guy sitting across the aisle. Enjolras thought his name started with a _G_.  "It's genuine history. The Sanderson sisters were hanged for witchcraft in 1694 right here in Salem."

Enjolras turned to look at him and immediately wished he hadn't. G-whatever was looking at him very seriously from beneath a tangled mess of dark curls, and it took Enjolras a moment to remember what they were arguing about. "I'm not disputing the historical facts. But they were victims of false accusations, just like everyone else who was hanged for witchcraft in the seventeenth century."

The guy grinned, and Enjolras' stomach gave an entirely unwarranted twist. "The rest of them, probably. But not these three. They were the real thing."

"Please." Enjolras turned away, aware that the entire class was watching them now.

"All right, fine." The guy tore a scrap of paper out of his notebook and scribbled something on it. "Here," he said. He folded the paper and passed it across the aisle. "In case something goes bump in the night...or in case you'd like it to."

A low murmur of amusement ran through the class, but the bell rang before Enjolras could answer. Everyone got up, shouldering bags and talking about their Halloween night plans.

Enjolras unfolded the paper. _Grantaire_ , it said, and underneath was a phone number.

His face warmed. It had to be joke. If he called the number, he'd probably get a pizza place, or a phone-sex line. And if it _did_ turn out to be Grantaire's number, that just meant there was another layer to the prank.

But he folded the paper up and stuck it in his pocket anyway. He tucked _A Tale of Two Cities_ back into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. English was his last class of the day, so he'd officially made it through the first week. Now all he had to do was survive another year and a half, and he could be back in California. If he started at Stanford in the spring semester, he'd be only half a year behind Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and things would be fine.

This was all temporary; he could handle it.

That didn't mean he was glad to see Grantaire waiting for him outside the classroom, leaning against a row of lockers. Enjolras walked past him without pausing.

"Hey," Grantaire said, pushing off the wall and dodging three lacrosse players to catch up with him. "Hey, slow down."

"What?"

"I said slow down, Little Red. What's the rush?"

Enjolras turned to look at him. " _Little Red_?"

He grinned. "Yeah, you know." He tugged on the hood of Enjolras' red jacket. "Red Riding Hood?"

"Whatever." He kept walking, hoping that Grantaire would take the hint.

"Listen, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you back there. I didn't mean--"

"I don't like being mocked."

"Oh, I wasn't mocking you! Teasing, maybe. Mocking requires malice."

"Now you're just playing semantics."

"Well, it _is_ an English class...and what are you doing in AP, anyway? I heard you were a junior."

"I am," Enjolras said. "Special permission. If it goes right, I'll be able to graduate a semester early."

"What's the rush?"

"Getting out of here as fast as I possibly can," he said flatly.

Grantaire snorted. "Wow, nice. Salem's not _that_ bad--you just have to give it a chance."

It was the same line his parents had been feeding him since they first broke the news that they were moving across the country, and he was sick of hearing it. He swung around in front of Grantaire, who almost plowed into him before he could stop. Enjolras realized smugly that he was taller than Grantaire by a couple of inches.

"Here." He fished Grantaire's folded note out of his pocket and held it out. "Trick or treat," he said.

Grantaire's eyes widened, and he took the paper. Enjolras turned to go while Grantaire was busy unfolding it, but he thought he caught a faint flicker of a frown before Grantaire laughed.

The frown stayed with him as he unlocked his bike and started home, tainting what should have felt like a righteous--okay, _self-_ righteous--victory. He was sure that Grantaire had been making fun of him, but when he realized that Enjolras had just given his own number back to him, he'd looked almost...disappointed.

It had to have been his imagination. There was no reason why Grantaire would want his number. You didn't make friends with the new kid--it would be social self-destruction. Let alone implying that you'd want to be _more_ than friends...

He took a shortcut through the cemetery that sprawled through the middle of town, keeping respectfully to the narrow paved path that wound across the property. Leaves crunched beneath his tires; it was quiet and peaceful, a welcome contrast to the past week.

Ahead, he saw three people lounging in the shadows of a mausoleum in a way that made Enjolras faintly uneasy. It was one thing to cut through a graveyard; it seemed like a different thing entirely to _hang out_ there. And the path was bringing him much closer to them than he'd really like to be.

He was just starting to wonder how disrespectful it would be to turn and ride his bike between the rows of graves when two of the three people stepped out onto the path directly in front of him.

Enjolras clutched the handbrakes and brought the bike to an abrupt stop less than a foot in front of them. "Excuse me," he said.

They didn't even seem to have heard him. All they did was shift slightly to either side so that the third member of their group could stand between them.

He was a year or two older than Enjolras and handsome in a cruel sort of way, with an indefinable air of command and a much more definable air of menace. His lips curled in a smile that reminded Enjolras of a particularly smug fox.

Enjolras swung off the bike, suddenly wanting to have the option of maneuverability.

"What have you got for us?" the leader asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't you know who I am?"

"No," Enjolras replied, hoping his tone conveyed that he didn't care, either.

"My name's Monty. And everyone knows there's a toll to come this way."

" _Is_ there." He took stock of his options and found that he didn't have many. He was severely outnumbered, and there was only the faintest chance that he would be able to get enough of a head start on the three of them to escape. When they found out he only had five dollars on him, they weren't going to be pleased.

His only hope was to do something so stupid and shocking that it would take them a few seconds to recover. He shifted back, hoping it seemed like the prelude to a retreat, then hauled off and punched Monty in the face.

Monty stumbled backwards, and Enjolras abandoned the bike and took off running.

It bought him all of three steps. One of Monty's friends caught his backpack as he ran, and that was the end. They held him in place while Monty recovered himself and walked over.

"That was pretty dumb, kid," he said. His lip was bleeding. "Ballsy, but _really_ fucking dumb."

Without any warning or change of expression, he punched Enjolras in the stomach.

The breath went out of him in a rush and he doubled over, supported only by the two holding his arms. As soon as he could breathe again, he got his feet under him and looked Monty in the eye.

Monty laughed. "You got guts. Tell you what, _Donnie_ , just this once, I'll let you off easy." He nodded, and the other two released Enjolras' arms.

"But we'll be keeping the bike," he added. "After all, there _is_ a toll."

Enjolras considered trying to punch him again, but the bike really wasn't worth getting killed. He turned his back on Monty and his friends and started walking.

* * *

He got lost twice--once in the cemetery itself, and once in his own neighborhood--and it took him half an hour to get home. By the time he got there, the last thing he wanted was his parents' cheerful after-school interrogation.

They were unpacking the kitchen things when he walked in.

"Hey, kiddo," his mother said. "How was school?"

"Please don't ask," Enjolras muttered. He kept walking, hoping they weren't going to call him back for an actual conversation.

Just before he closed his bedroom door, he heard his father say, "I thought he rode his bike to school."

Enjolras wasn't looking forward to having _that_ conversation. He shut the door, dropped his bag on the floor, and finally let himself relax.

The bedroom might have been his only consolation for their cross-country move. His room was on the top floor, and there was a curling iron staircase that rose through the center of the room to a tiny, glass-walled tower that stuck out of the roof like a landlocked lighthouse. The tower was only big enough to fit one person comfortably, but on a clear day he could sit and look out over the bay.

When he did, though, he just felt homesick for a very different bay. He seemed to be missing San Francisco _more_ , instead of less. He sighed and dropped down onto the bed. His stomach still hurt from Monty's punch, and he didn't want to think about having to go back to school on Monday--and over and over again, for more than a year.

And then there was Grantaire. Grantaire who wasn't exactly difficult to look at, with the blue eyes and the broad shoulders. A bit too ready to believe in things like witchcraft, maybe, but nobody was perfect.

It was too bad that he definitely hated Enjolras now, after the trick with the phone number. In hindsight, that might have been a little mean-spirited.

Still, there was no harm in wondering...

"Who's _Grantaire_?" said a voice from the tower.

Enjolras jumped. He didn't know he'd said anything out loud. " _Cosette_!" he snapped. "What are you doing in my room?"

"I'm not in your room, I'm in the tower."

"The tower is _part of my room_."

She shrugged and climbed down the staircase to sit cross-legged on a stack of boxes, still waiting to be emptied and fill the empty bookshelves next to them. "Dad says you have to take me trick-or-treating tonight."

Enjolras sighed and draped an arm over his eyes. "You're ten. Can't you take yourself?"

She pouted. It was an extremely good pout. "But we've only lived here for like _three days_. I'll get lost and kidnapped by the Sanderson sisters, and then you'll feel like a jerk."

"Oh god, not you too."

"Not me too what?"

"That Sanderson sisters crap. Everyone in this town is obsessed with them."

"Because they're so _cool_. I'm going to be Sarah Sanderson tonight. I've got the hat and everything."

"Cosette--"

"Anyway, you have to take me. Dad says."

Enjolras considered pleading his case to their mother. Maybe she would take Cosette out instead...

"Because he and mom are going to a party tonight, so they can't do it."

"Okay," Enjolras said, resigned. "I'll go."

"Yay!" Cosette jumped up, kissed him on the cheek, and ran out of the room.

Enjolras continued to stare up at the ceiling. Whatever half-planned daydream he'd been building around Grantaire was gone now. He wondered if his parents would object to him getting a lock for his bedroom door. It would probably be easier than teaching Cosette to respect his privacy.

He dragged himself upright and pulled _A Tale of Two Cities_ out of his backpack. He'd read it before--twice--but the AP class had been halfway through the book when Enjolras had enrolled, and he needed to refresh his memory.

He got through about twenty pages before a desperate sort of loneliness overtook him. He picked up his tablet and Skyped Combeferre.

"Time zones," was the first thing Combeferre said. His slightly pixelated smile appeared on the screen. "It's not even three here, you know."

"I know. I also know you have senior study hall last period, and Mr. Garrett lets you run amok," Enjolras countered. "How are you?"

"Not bad. How are you?"

Enjolras sighed. "Okay, I guess. I, um...I miss you."

Combeferre's smile softened. "I miss you, too. Courfeyrac says hi, I'm sure."

"Shouldn't he be in study hall with you?"

"In-school suspension. Something about setting fire to the student code of conduct."

Enjolras' eyes widened. "I didn't think he'd really go through with that."

"Neither did I, or I would have spent more time trying to talk him out of it. But there was a crackdown on student facial hair--why, I have _no_ idea--so he sparked one of the Bunsen burners in the chemistry room and used it to set fire to the code of conduct."

"Good for him." If Enjolras had been there, he'd probably be in the suspension room with Courfeyrac, and it was absurd that the thought threatened to choke him up.

"Is it lonely there?"

"It's awful," Enjolras admitted. "It's cold and I miss you and some guy stole my bike this afternoon."

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "Stole your _bike_?"

"Yeah. Turns out there's a toll to take a shortcut through the graveyard. And it increases when you punch the lead bully in the face. Who knew, right?"

Combeferre laughed. "I never would have guessed. Listen, Enjolras, it'll get better. You just have to give it--"

A shrill clamor echoed through the tablet's speaker.

"That's the bell," Combeferre said unnecessarily. "I have to go. And--happy Halloween."

"Yeah. You too," he said, and then he signed off. He laid the tablet down on the bed beside him and closed his eyes.

He woke up to his father calling him downstairs.

The kitchen was still a scene of relative chaos; only half the boxes had been unpacked, and the rest of his family was standing around the kitchen table, possibly because the kitchen chairs were still packed away. Fantine was dressed in a nineteenth-century ball gown, and Jean was wearing a tuxedo and a white half-mask.

Cosette was wearing a classic witch costume and giving their father an unimpressed look. "You know, Raoul was definitely the better choice," she said.

Enjolras reached into the fruit-bowl for an apple. "Agreed. Much less creepy hypnotism and brainwashing."

"Thank you for your concern," Fantine said wryly. "But I did in fact marry Raoul, not the Phantom. It's just that the Phantom makes for a much more striking costume." She leaned up to kiss their father.

Cosette gagged dramatically.

"Anyway," Jean said, "I suppose we should be glad our children recognize that brainwashing is not a sign of a healthy relationship."

"Can we also recognize the fact that you've made us listen to the soundtrack way too many times?" Enjolras asked.

"Fair point," Fantine said. "You're taking Cosette trick-or-treating, right?"

"Apparently."

"But you're not even dressed up!" Cosette said.

Enjolras glared. "Don't push your luck."

Fantine cleared her throat. "We'll be out late. There's money for pizza if you want. Cosette, your brother's in charge. Enjolras, if you need anything, call us. And try to keep her from eating all the candy at once."

"Make sure she leaves a few Snickers behind," Jean added solemnly. "I'll need to check them for poison."

Enjolras nodded. "I'm in charge, call you if we need anything, tell Cosette to hide the Snickers. Got it."

Their parents left a few minutes later, just as the first trick-or-treaters started making their way through the neighborhood. Cosette was looking at the door with undisguised impatience.

"I don't suppose you'd just let me buy you a bag of those miniature Snickers, and we can _pretend_ we went trick-or-treating?"

She gave him an elegant glare.

"All right, fine. Let's get this over with."

* * *

They made their way through the neighborhood, house by house. It wasn't _so_ bad, walking through the cool evening while a full moon rose golden over the horizon.

Cosette had built up a decent stockpile of candy by the time they turned a corner and saw three familiar figures at the far end of the road.

Three figures, and one very familiar red bicycle.

Enjolras' stomach still ached from the afternoon's first run-in with Monty. Ordinarily, he wouldn't let that stop him, but tonight was different.

Tonight, he was responsible for Cosette. Enjolras caught her arm as she started down the street. "Let's skip this one and go down the next street."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because I don't like the looks of those guys, and Mom and Dad told me to watch out for you."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'll be fine."

"Yes, but _I_ might end up murdered."

"In that case, I'm sure I can go home and order the pizza myself."

He sighed. "Your concern for my welfare is touching," he said, but she was already walking up the driveway to the first house.

Enjolras hoped that, by the time they made it down the street, Monty and his friends would have moved on. But they showed no sign of leaving. The street and sidewalk were littered with the smashed remains of jack-o-lanterns, and there was a conspicuous lack of other trick-or-treaters in the area.

Monty sat on the curb and watched them approach. His lip was still swollen, and it warmed Enjolras' heart a little.

Just when he thought they might really make it past without trouble, Monty stood up and stepped in front of them. "Pay the toll."

Not this again. Cosette raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"There's a toll to come this way, girlie."

"Leave her alone," Enjolras said.

Monty looked up, and he grinned. "Well, if it isn't Donnie. Didn't you learn your lesson the first time?"

"Who's Donnie?" Cosette asked, looking up at Enjolras.

"I think I am."

"That's dumb."

Monty took another step forward. "Hey, you little brat--"

Enjolras stepped sideways, so he was standing between Monty and Cosette. "Leave. Her. Alone," he said again.

"Don't tell me what to do, asshole."

"Come on, you're picking on little kids now? Real brave."

"Fuck you," Monty snarled.

" _Hey_!" Cosette snapped. "You can't talk to him like that."

Enjolras held out an arm to bar her from getting any closer to Monty. "He can talk to me any way he wants, Cosette. I don't care."

"Well, you're way out of his league anyway."

" _Cosette_ ," Enjolras hissed.

"What? It's true."

"You're not helping."

She huffed out a sigh. "So what's the stupid toll, anyway?" she asked Monty.

He shrugged. "Let's say...half your candy. For _you_. For your brother, I'll need the rest."

Enjolras took another step forward. He was perversely pleased to see Monty tense up, but he couldn't risk starting another fight. "Look, you've already got my damn bike. Isn't that enough?"

"You should probably get out of my face, Donnie," Monty said. He clearly resented having to look _up_ at Enjolras when they were standing this close. "Before I decide to rearrange yours."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

"Too bad."

Monty's eyes narrowed, and Enjolras could see by the tension in his shoulders that Monty was about to punch him again.

" _Here_." Cosette upended her bag and dumped her candy onto the ground. "I hope you choke on it."

Monty looked from Cosette back to Enjolras and took a step to one side. "Saved by your baby sister," he said coldly. "Nice. But that's two now, Donnie. I don't think you want to find out what happens the third time you piss me off."

"I'm not going to lose sleep over it," Enjolras said. "Come on, Cosette."

They didn't stop until they'd turned the corner onto the next street--Enjolras didn't even look back. He was sure that if he lost momentum, he'd go back and punch Monty again, and if he opened his mouth, he didn't expect anything civil to come out.

"Why does that guy have your bike?"

Enjolras sighed. Cosette didn't idolize him or anything, but she respected him, and telling her the truth was going to put a serious dent in that respect. "Because he punched me and took it."

" _What_? Why would you let him do that?"

"I didn't _let him do it_ , Cosette. I was outnumbered. I got in a shot at Monty, but I paid for it."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's going to be a long walk to school every day, but I'm fine."

Cosette stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Enjolras took another five steps before he realized it, and he turned back. "What is it?"

Her face had crumpled. "This town _sucks_! I want to go home."

Enjolras hid his relief. "Okay, we can go back--"

"No. I want to go _home_."

"Oh." He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. "Yeah, me too. But this is home now, so we have to make the best of it."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You're going to go off to college next year and _leave_. I'm stuck here forever."

"Eight years," Enjolras corrected.

"Yeah. _Forever_."

"It's not that bad here..."

"You got punched and robbed."

He sighed. "Yeah, I did."

"And now I don't even have candy."

Enjolras roused himself from what was threatening to become melancholy. "Well, that's one thing we can fix. Come on, let's try the next street and see what we can do."

Cosette took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and nodded. "Okay."

They turned down the next street and stopped dead at the bottom of the first driveway.

"Whoa," Cosette said.

Enjolras had to agree. Clearly they'd reached a wealthy part of town. The house in front of them was massive, red brick with green shutters, and every window was lit. There seemed to be a party going on inside.

"Rich people," Cosette said. "I bet they give out _awesome_ candy." She darted up the brick path to ring the doorbell. Enjolras followed at a slightly less enthusiastic pace. As far as he could tell, Monty and his friends hadn't decided to follow them, but he wasn't going to be able to relax for at least another block.

The door opened. "Trick-or-treat!" Cosette said brightly.

Enjolras stared. "Oh."

Grantaire was standing in the doorway, dressed in a red waistcoat and silk breeches, with a tiny pair of round spectacles balanced low on his nose. For a moment, he seemed as startled as Enjolras, and then he swung the door wide. "Hi, come on in."

The foyer of the house stretched up two full stories in front of a long, polished staircase. They could hear the sound of the party through the tall double-doors to the left, but the hallway itself was deserted.

There was an enormous plastic cauldron by the door, piled high with full-size candy bars. "Take your pick," Grantaire said. "In fact, take several."

Cosette dug gleefully through the candy, searching for her favorites, which left Enjolras and Grantaire more or less alone.

Enjolras tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you lived here. I would have skipped this house, if I'd known..."

"Why? My parents give out the best candy in the neighborhood."

"Yeah, but it's awkward, isn't it?"

Grantaire grinned. "Oh, you mean since I gave you my number in front of, like, thirty people, and then you threw it back in my face? Could be worse."

"I thought it was a joke," Enjolras said, wincing.

"I had to have plausible deniability, in case you turned out to be violently homophobic or something. I figured you wouldn't get too offended, being from San Francisco and all, but you can't be too careful."

"Grantaire, I'm--"

"Forget it, seriously. You guys want some cider?"

"Um, sure. Cosette?"

She nodded. "Yes, please."

Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras and lowered his voice. "I can make it hard, if you want."

" _What_?"

He smirked. "There's hard cider and regular cider--which do you want? I'm specifically asking _you_ , here. No alcohol for the middle-school set."

"I--just regular, please," Enjolras said, desperately hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt.

Grantaire sighed. "No fun at all. Okay, two ciders, coming up." He disappeared into the next room. Enjolras watched him go and silently thanked whatever gods might exist for the invention of silk trousers.

"Do you know him from school?" Cosette asked.

"Yeah, he's in my English class. He's a senior." He paused. "Listen, can I ask you a favor?"

"It's going to cost you," she said cheerfully.

"Just...could we stay here for a few minutes? I promise we'll still get to the rest of the houses on the street."

"Oh. You _like_ him."

"Cosette..."

"Let me think about the terms." She considered for a moment. "Next year you have to take me trick-or-treating again. But you have to do it _in costume_."

"Fine."

"And we're going as Viola and Sebastian--in tights, or it's no deal."

"Deal." Future mortification was a fair price to pay for...well, a more immediate opportunity for mortification. He wasn't sure how this could go any _worse_ than their conversation at school, but there was always a chance.

Grantaire came back out of the room carrying three champagne flutes full of cider. He passed one off to Cosette and one to Enjolras and kept the third back for himself.

"Is _yours_ hard?" Enjolras ventured in an undertone, looking skeptically at Grantaire's glass.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He raised his glass in a toast, and they all three tapped their glasses together.

"So why Robespierre?" Enjolras asked.

Grantaire's smile could have lit the room. "Wow. You're the only person who's gotten that all night."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My stepmom decided that this year's party theme was the Revolution, but she failed to specify _which_ revolution. And since we've been reading _A Tale of Two Cities_ , I thought it was apropos. My dad nixed the fake blood I bought, though."

"That's a shame."

"I know. It really adds a certain _je ne sais quoi_ to the whole ensemble."

"I can imagine."

"Can you?" Grantaire asked, eyeing Enjolras over the rim of his glass.

Cosette cleared her throat. "If you guys are going to make out, can I have another glass of cider first?"

Enjolras' face burned. " _Cosette_."

"What? This is Grantaire, right?"

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "You've heard of me?"

"Nothing detailed. Enjolras just came home and flopped down on the bed and said your name, that's all."

"Cosette, _stop talking_ ," Enjolras said through clenched teeth.

"Sorry--Cosette, is it?" Grantaire said. "I didn't mean to monopolize your brother--although we _are_ going to return to this lying-on-the-bed, saying-my-name thing later," he added. "Your costume is fantastic, by the way. Sarah Sanderson?"

"Right!" she grinned.

"You must have fed well--you don't look a day over three hundred and ten."

Cosette giggled, and Enjolras bit his lip to hide a smile. All right, so Grantaire was good with kids. That was definitely not in any way endearing.

"You know," Grantaire continued, "your brother doesn't believe in witches."

She rolled her eyes. "I know. He's dreadfully pragmatic."

Grantaire looked at Enjolras in disbelief. " _Dreadfully pragmatic_? You're not the only Fauchelevent destined for AP English, are you?"

"She's precocious," Enjolras explained. "And a brat."

Cosette stuck her tongue out at him.

Grantaire grinned. "There used to be a museum about the Sanderson sisters in town--in the very house where they once lived."

"There _was_?" Cosette's eyes widened.

"Yeah. My mom used to run it, but they had to shut it down a few years ago when--when she got sick. But really it was because weird things kept happening. Like, there was this stray cat, right? And people used to hear her talk sometimes. And the lights would go out for no reason, and no one liked to stay after dark because you could hear the witches' laughter."

"Creepy," Cosette said, awed.

"You know, I think we still have the key. You want to go see the place?"

Enjolras shook his head. "We should be getting back--"

"What? I thought you didn't believe in witches."

"I _don't_. But I'm responsible for Cosette tonight, and I'm pretty sure trespassing through abandoned museums is not on the list of approved babysitter activities."

"We won't be trespassing. My family still owns the property. _And_ I have a key."

" _Please_ , Enjolras?" Cosette asked, her eyes wide.

"Yeah, please?" Grantaire echoed, looking up from under his eyelashes in a way that should not have been half as attractive as it was.

"I...okay," Enjolras said. "But we can't be out too late."

"It's a small museum--it won't take more than an hour. Just let me change and get the key, and we can go."

Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire went upstairs to change.

When he looked over at Cosette, she was grinning at him.

"Stop doing that, it's creepy."

"You _like_ him," she said again.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do."

"I do _not_."

"Do too."

"I--this is stupid. I don't like him, not the way you mean. And...even if I did, it wouldn't work. I was really rude to him today in class."

"Yeah, and he's _so_ mad about it that he's taking us on a secret tour of an abandoned museum on Halloween night. He totally hates you."

"And to think I was going to apologize for calling you a brat," Enjolras said airily.

Grantaire came down the staircase a minute later. He was wearing jeans, sneakers, and green hooded sweatshirt; Enjolras missed the silk trousers, but it wasn't like the jeans were a _downgrade_.

"Let's go," Grantaire said brightly, twirling a key-ring on his finger.

"Are you sure it's okay to take that?" Enjolras asked.

"Yeah. It was in a box of my mom's things that I kept--I don't even think my dad knows I have it. _And_ I found a flashlight," he added. "I mean, the building should still have power, but just in case..."

They left the house and walked down the street. After a few turns, Enjolras realized that he was irrevocably lost, and he really hoped this wasn't some drawn-out prelude to a bad joke.

The moon cast enough light to see, but Enjolras let Grantaire lead the way, staying a step or two behind with Cosette.

"Is this a date?" Cosette whispered.

"If it was a date, I wouldn't bring _you_ ," he countered in the same tone. "Also, breaking and entering is not first-date territory."

"It's not breaking and entering if you have a key," Grantaire put in without turning around. "And no, it's not a date."

Enjolras covered his face with one hand.

"See, for it to be a date, your brother would have had to _keep my number_ , instead of handing it back to me in a cruel trick-or-treat ruse."

Cosette shook her head. "He's a little stupid about this kind of thing. You should give him another chance."

Grantaire looked back over his shoulder at Enjolras. "Oh? Should I?"

"Will you please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Enjolras complained.

"Okay, sorry." Grantaire slowed down as they passed the cemetery. The sidewalk was narrow and cracked, but the street was empty, so they walked three abreast down the road.

Grantaire glanced sideways at Enjolras. "You really hate it here, huh?"

He shrugged. "It's only been a week. But yes."

"Why? It's not that bad here."

"I got _mugged_ today. I lived in San Francisco for seventeen years and everything was fine. I'm here six days, and some guy named Monty punches me and walks off with my bike."

"Ah, shit, you ran into Monty? No wonder you hate it here. Trust me, Monty is not a representative sample of Salem. Where'd he get you?"

"Stomach."

"Ow."

"I punched him first, though," Enjolras added sullenly.

Grantaire grinned. "Well, that was dumb--he's not going to forget that. But I would have paid a hundred bucks to see it happen."

"And he keeps calling me _Donnie_."

"Donnie..." Grantaire frowned, and then he let out a shout of laughter that echoed off the high stone walls of the cemetery. "Donnie _Wahlberg_. Get it?"

"Because I'm the new kid on the block." Enjolras groaned. "That's...actually a lot more clever than I'd expect from him."

"It should be. He got the joke from me."

"From you?"

"A couple of years ago, yeah."

"How do you know him?"

Grantaire winced. "I have pretty terrible taste in guys."

Enjolras took a moment to process the information and decided that he really did not want to think about Grantaire and Monty being together. "Should I be insulted?"

"No, I think Monty punches everyone."

"I mean by _you_. You said you had terrible taste in guys, but you also gave me your number this afternoon."

"Well, I'm aiming a little higher these days. Not having a lot of success, though, as you might have noticed."

"Oh. Sorry..." Enjolras hesitated, on the verge of asking for another chance, but Grantaire spoke up before he could gather his courage.

"So what about you, then? Did you have someone, back in California?"

"I did. It was...sort of complicated, though, and when I found out we were moving, we just decided that it was better to end things there than to try to maintain a long-distance relationship."

Grantaire balked. "That's kind of harsh, isn't it?"

"Not at all. It was a mutual decision, and it gave us time to relearn how to be friends.  Combeferre was my best friend before he was anything else, and I wouldn't have wanted to lose that."

"That sounds...what did you call it, Cosette? 'Dreadfully pragmatic.'"

"Told you," she said.

Enjolras sighed and gave up on talking.

"Okay, here we are." Grantaire stopped in front of an iron gate that stood in the middle of a low, crumbling wall. Beyond the wall was a tiny stone house with ivy crawling up its face and a broken-down water-wheel to one side.

He unlocked the gate, and it opened reluctantly, with a horrible squeal. Beyond the gate was an overgrown lawn and a stone path choked with weeds. Grantaire led the way up the path towards the house, ignoring that nettles that tried to snag his jeans.

The back of Enjolras' neck prickled, and he turned around to see a patch of weeds rustling as something slunk away. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Grantaire and Cosette asked in unison. Even in the darkness, he could see that Cosette's eyes were wide.

"It's nothing. Never mind."

Grantaire unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The inside of the cottage was pitch-dark. Grantaire turned on the flashlight and peered along the front wall. "Hang on, I think the electric bill is paid up--we kept it climate-controlled even after the museum closed, for the sake of preservation...ah, here it is."

He flipped the switch, and the lights came on. Half a dozen bulbs immediately flared and burnt out, startling Enjolras more than he would have liked to admit.

The remaining light was gloomy and dim. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and cobwebs festooned the electric chandelier in the middle of the room. There were old artifacts in glass cases along the walls, with plaques that explained the purpose of each one.

In the middle of the room was a massive black iron cauldron.

"Is that _really_ the cauldron where they made their spells?" Cosette asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Grantaire nodded. "Everything you see in here is real."

Enjolras let out an undignified snort.

"Fine, everything you see in here _dates to the seventeenth century_. Whether it's _real_ or not is up to the viewer. You want a tour?"

" _Yes_ ," Cosette said, practically bouncing.

Grantaire took them around the room, talking about the broomsticks and the cauldron and a dozen other things that were calculated to confirm the Sanderson sisters' involvement in real witchcraft. Enjolras tried his best to behave. Cosette was enthralled, and it was sort of nice to be able to look at Grantaire without the accompanying danger of making a fool of himself.

"The Sanderson sisters were finally caught when they killed a boy called Gavroche. His sister went after him, to try and save him...but she was never seen again. They say the spell the witches used to kill Gavroche came from this book." Grantaire tapped on a tall display case. Beneath the dusty glass lay a leather-bound book with the pages held closed by a tarnished clasp.

"It's Winifred Sanderson's book of spells," Grantaire said. "Bound in human skin--and don't give me that look, Enjolras, they ran tests. Legend has it that the skin came from a hanged man. Now, most of the exhibits here are in cases that can be opened to clean or repair the items inside. Not this one, though. The case was made more than a hundred years ago, and it's completely sealed at every joint--there's no way to get the book out without breaking the glass. It was deemed too dangerous and too tempting to put a latch on the case."

"Tempting?" Enjolras echoed.

Grantaire looked up at him. "The book contains Winifred's darkest spells. You don't want people toying with forces like that."

"Right." Enjolras rolled his eyes and turned away. Behind the display case that held the book was a tall iron candlestick, topped by a black candle with strange patterns carved in the wax. "What's this?" he asked.

"Oh, you mean the black-flame candle."

"Black- _flame_?"

"That's what they say. Nobody's ever seen it lit. It's made from the tallow of a hanged man--"

"The same one who provided the skin for the book?"

Grantaire frowned. "I don't know; don't interrupt. Legend has it that, on All Hallows' Eve during a full moon, a virgin can light the black-flame candle and raise the Sanderson sisters from the dead."

"Oh, of course," Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire folded his arms, and his voice lost its storytelling cadence. "You are such a wet blanket, man. I'm giving you a _private tour_ of a closed museum--you think I do this for every guy who moves into town with a giant chip on his shoulder?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I get that you don't believe any of this stuff, but why do you have to be such an asshole about it?"

"Well, for starters, how is it that in _three hundred and twenty years_ no one has ever tried to light the candle?"

"I never said people haven't tried. _I_ tried to light it once, when I was a kid. Nothing happened."

"Oh, really."

"Yeah. The wick wouldn't catch, no matter what I did. The trouble is, there are so many conditions to the spell. A full moon on Halloween only happens a handful of times a century. The last one was almost twenty years ago, and Mom told me once that they locked the candle in the storage closet that night...just in case."

Enjolras glanced outside, where the full moon was shining on the overgrown garden. There was a counter near the door with a display of old souvenirs--including a little rack of commemorative lighters, square silver ones engraved with _Sanderson Sisters Witchcraft Museum_. Enjolras picked one up and wiped the dust away with his thumb.

Cosette took a step back. "Enjolras, I don't think this is a good idea."

He tossed the lighter to Grantaire. "Go ahead, then. If you believe in all this crap, then why don't you light the candle and prove it?"

Grantaire gave him a sharp, sly smile. "Thanks, but I don't meet the requirements." He tossed the lighter back. " _You_ could give it a try, though."

Enjolras ignored the insinuation in Grantaire's voice. "Fine." He flipped open the lighter. It probably wouldn't even work, after so many years. _Click. Click_.

The third click sparked, and on the fourth try, a tiny, unsteady flame appeared. Enjolras touched the flame to the edge of the wick.

"Enjolras, _don't_ \--" Cosette gasped.

Grantaire took a half-step forward, like he was going to stop him, and then the wick caught.

For the space of a heartbeat, the flame glowed golden. Enjolras snapped the lighter closed and tucked it into his pocket, feeling very smug indeed. Then abruptly the flame went black, glowing pale blue around the edges.

"What the f--"

Cosette screamed and pointed to the book.

Just above the latch that held the book shut, a wrinkle in the leather binding had opened to reveal a human eye. It rolled left and right, looking for something--

The floor of the cabin began to shake.

Witchcraft was beyond Enjolras' understanding, but earthquakes were familiar territory. Cosette immediately ducked under a table; Enjolras caught Grantaire's arm and pulled him down beneath the front desk. The floorboards rattled and shifted wildly for almost a full minute, and then it all stopped.

Enjolras was acutely aware of the fact that he and Grantaire were jammed together in the extremely small space beneath the counter. Grantaire drew in a breath and let it out in a shaky laugh. "Did the earth move for you, too?" he muttered.

"You get used to it after a while." Enjolras took a deep breath of his own and choked on a mouthful of dust. "Cosette, are you okay?"

"The _book_ has an _eye in it_ ," she yelled.

"I'm going to take that as a yes. Let's get out of here--this place might come down any minute." He stood up and held out a hand to help Grantaire to his feet.

"Blow out the candle, too," Grantaire said. "If there's a gas leak..."

"I'm closest," Cosette replied. She cupped her hands around the flame and blew. "It won't go out." She frowned and leaned forward to try again, and that was when the door burst open.

Three women stood silhouetted in the doorway. The one in the middle stepped forward and smiled.

"Sisters...we are _back_."


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire was the first to recover. He pushed Enjolras back into a narrow corner behind a display case and turned around to pull Cosette with them, but the witches had already spotted her.

She drew herself up to her four-foot-six-inch height. "Good evening, sisters," she said.

The witches drew back. "It speaks," the dark-haired one said uncertainly. "Winnie, what does it want?"

Enjolras tried to push past Grantaire to get to Cosette, but Grantaire held him back. "I have an idea," he whispered, his lips very close to Enjolras' ear. "Hold still."

He reached into Enjolras' pocket.

"I don't think this is the time for that," Enjolras hissed.

"I need the lighter."

"It's in my _other pocket_."

"Oh. My bad." Grantaire's fingers dipped into the other pocket and emerged with the silver lighter.

Cosette was still standing in the middle of the room with the witches. She was shaking so hard her hat was trembling, but her voice was steady. "When shall we four meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?"

"Is that _Macbeth_?" Grantaire breathed.

"I said she was precocious."

"You weren't wrong. Okay, cover me."

"Cover--? No, _wait_!"

But Grantaire was already crossing the room, keeping to the shadows as best he could. He ducked behind the counter, out of the witches' sight.

"What a precious little...child," Winifred said, as if the very word was choking her. She put her arm around Cosette's shoulders. "Tell me, sister, what year is it?"

"T-twenty-fourteen."

"Why, sisters! It has been three hundred and twenty years. Finally, someone lit my candle. I _knew_ it would work," she said, turning to coo at the book within its glass case. "I knew it would, I _knew_ it. Now, were you the one that brought us back...dear?"

Cosette lifted her chin proudly. "But of course." She was running on bravado and a flair for the dramatic, but it wouldn't buy her much time. The witches were just toying with her now, and who knew what they would do when they got bored. There was something Enjolras half-remembered from the story from English class--something about the witches needing the lives of children...

"All _alone_?" Winifred asked, her eyes bright and greedy.

One of the sisters was sniffing at the air. "No, Winnie, not alone..."

"Do you smell something, Mary?"

She nodded. "A boy."

The third sister, who must have been Sarah, giggled. "A boy!"

"No--two boys."

"Two! Oh, find them for me, Mary. I'll share, I promise I'll share," Sarah said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Mary turned to look at the counter where Grantaire was hiding. She must have seen him, or...smelled him, somehow. Enjolras had to draw her attention before she caught him and ruined the plan.

He darted out from the shadows to stand between Cosette and the witches. "Leave her alone!"

Sarah gasped. "The boy!"

Winifred gave him a considering look. "Hello." She leveled her fingertips at him, and blue sparks gathered at her fingertips. "Good-bye." Blue-white lightning shot from her fingertips to spark and sizzle over Enjolras' skin, throwing him to the floor. He curled up instinctively, waiting for the pain to play itself out.

"Enjolras!" Cosette screamed. She reached for him, but the witches pulled her back. She bit at Sarah, who let go in shock and raised a hand to hit her--or curse her.

A shout broke through the tumult. "Hey!"

The witches froze. Grantaire was standing on the countertop, one fist raised like the final freeze-frame of _The Breakfast Club_. Enjolras struggled to his knees, then to his feet, creeping closer to Cosette.

"Ohh, the other boy," Sarah said rapturously.

"You think you're the only ones with magic?" Grantaire asked. "You think _she_ brought you back? You're toying with powers you can't begin to comprehend. Behold as I summon the burning rain of death."

Enjolras thought he was laying it on a _little_ thick, but the witches were muttering to each other, looking concerned.

Grantaire flicked the lighter in his hand and held it just beneath the old metal sprinkler on the ceiling.

Mary gasped. "He conjures fire from nothing!"

"Get ready to run," Enjolras whispered to Cosette. She nodded.

The sprinklers coughed to life, spraying rusty water through the room. The witches shrieked and ran for cover. Enjolras pushed Cosette towards the door as Grantaire jumped down from the counter.

"Grab the book!" Grantaire said.

Enjolras turned back and shoved the glass display case over. It fell to the floor with a tremendous crash, spilling shattered glass across the floorboards. Enjolras reached into the broken cabinet to pick up the book. The eye was still rolling back and forth, looking for Winifred, and Enjolras' skin crawled as he tucked the book to his chest and ran.

Terror kept them running far past the point of breathlessness. They didn't stop until they reached the cemetery. The gates were still open, and they silently decided that putting a high stone wall between themselves and the witches was well worth the irony of taking shelter in a cemetery on Halloween.

They dropped down into the shadows beneath a tree, and Enjolras slumped back against the trunk to catch his breath. He still ached all over from Winifred's lightning--he felt like he'd been tased. "I'm prepared to concede that I _may_ have been mistaken regarding the existence of witches."

"You _think_?" Cosette snapped.

Grantaire rubbed at a stitch in his side. "To be honest, I really wasn't expecting much, either. First of all, I thought there was no way you'd qualify to light the damn thing--"

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"--and on top of that, I didn't actually believe it would _work_."

"Well, you're still the expert, so you'd better figure out a way to stop them," Enjolras said.

Grantaire frowned at him. "Oh, what, now _I'm_ the brains of this operation? You're the one who skipped like half a grade, so maybe _you_ should be doing the thinking here, Butch."

"And I suppose that makes you Sundance?"

"Does it matter? We're all going to face the fucking Bolivian army if we don't figure out what to do--and _soon_."

"Maybe there's something in the book." Enjolras picked it up, trying not to look at the blinking, darting eye, and lifted the cover.

Abruptly, something leapt onto the book's cover, pressing it down. All three of them jumped.

"Oh, _well_ done indeed," the black cat sneered. "For three hundred and twenty years, everything goes just fine, but then _you_ show up and ruin everything."

Enjolras took a deep breath. "Does everyone else hear the cat talking?"

The cat rolled her eyes in a disturbingly human gesture. "Of course they can hear me. You're not mad. Well, considering you _lit the damned candle_ , perhaps you are--but yes, I really am talking."

"Look, I didn't think anything would happen!" Enjolras protested. Now he was trying to justify himself to a cat.

"Let me guess. You don't believe in witches?" she asked.

"Well...I _didn't_..."

She laughed.

"What's your name?" Cosette asked.

The cat tilted her head and looked at Cosette for a moment. "Eponine," she said at last. Her tail twitched slowly back and forth.

"Eponine," Grantaire breathed. "Gavroche's sister?"

The fur on her spine stood on end before flattening again. "Yes," she said shortly.

In the silence that followed, Cosette made introductions. "I'm Cosette. This is my brother Enjolras, he's the virgin who lit the candle, and this is his friend Grantaire."

"Charmed," Eponine purred sarcastically.

"Are you the witches' familiar?"

She hissed. " _No_. I was cursed by the Sanderson sisters. They took my brother and cast a spell on him...and then they breathed in his life until they were young again, and he was..." She flexed her paws, and a set of needle-sharp claws appeared and then retracted again. "They cursed me with this shape, and with immortality, so that I could never forget that I had failed to save Gavroche. I decided that the best way to use my immortality was to make sure that it never happened to anyone else. And it _had_ been going rather well...until tonight."

"I'm sorry," Enjolras began.

"Save your apologies. They won't help."

"Hey, he didn't know," Cosette argued. "Be nice."

" _Nice_? The witches are loose once more and you want me to be _nice_?" Eponine's fur ruffled up again. "Come with me."

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder at Grantaire, who shrugged. The three of them followed Eponine through the cemetery, from the modern marble gravestones and bronze plaques towards the older stones, cracked and weathered and faded. They stopped in front of a small gravestone, carved with a sleeping lamb. The stone was so worn that the inscription was barely legible, even in the bright moonlight.

  
_Gavroche Thenardier_  
 _February 2, 1684--October 31, 1694_.

"Oh," Cosette said quietly. "This is your brother's grave, isn't it?"

Eponine nodded.

Gavroche had been almost exactly Cosette's age. Enjolras set his jaw against the chill that made its way down his spine.

Eponine sat carefully beside her brother's gravestone. "This is the fate that every child in Salem will suffer if the witches have their way. You are dealing with an evil you cannot imagine."

"What do we do?" Grantaire asked quietly.

"Stay here, if you can. They cannot complete their spell without the book, and they cannot set foot on hallowed ground, so you may be safe as long as you remain within the graveyard."

"For how long?" Cosette asked. "Not that I'm ungrateful for the advice, but we're going to get hungry eventually."

"The candle will burn for one night only. At sunrise, if the witches have not stolen the lives of the children of Salem, they will die."

Enjolras sighed and sat on the grass beside Gavroche's grave.

Grantaire knelt down next to him. "You okay?" he asked in an undertone, clearly not wanting to alarm Cosette.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure about that? She did go kind of Emperor-Palpatine on you back there."

He shrugged. He still ached all over, and there was a muscle in his left shoulder that kept twitching at odd moments, but overall he didn't feel terrible. "I'm fine. I've been tased before, it wears off."

Grantaire stared at him. "You've been _tased_?"

"Yeah. I sneaked out last summer to go to a protest with Combeferre. The police came to break it up, and things got kind of...tense."

"Huh. You are way more badass than I thought," Grantaire said.

Cosette cleared her throat. "Can you guys stop flirting for like _ten seconds_ while we figure out what to do about the witches?"

Enjolras turned away from Grantaire before he let himself lean any closer. "We need to call the police," he said.

Grantaire snorted. "And tell them what? That we brought the Sanderson sisters back from the dead? Yeah, that's going to go over well."

"We have to tell _someone_!"

"No one is going to believe us, Enjolras."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't try." He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and swiped the screen. He frowned and pressed the power button, then held it down. "Damn it. Whatever she zapped me with must have fried my phone. It won't even turn on."

Grantaire passed his phone to Enjolras. "Use mine. Though I still don't know what good it's going to do."

"I'm going to report that someone broke into the Sanderson museum. We were walking by and we saw lights, and the police should probably check it out."

Grantaire considered. "Well, at least that will get their attention," he admitted.

Enjolras dialed 911. "There are lights on at the old Sanderson house," he said, as soon as someone answered. "I think somebody might have broken in."

As soon as the operator started to ask awkward questions like _what's your name_ , Enjolras ended the call. He didn't expect the police to catch the witches, but at least they might be able to do _something_. He handed the phone back to Grantaire. "So now we just wait. Sunrise is--when, exactly?"

"Seven-fifteen-ish," Grantaire said immediately, to Enjolras' surprise. "My bedroom faces east." He lay back on the grass between two graves. "Wake me up at dawn, okay?"

Eponine batted his cheek with one paw. "Stay on your guard. The witches cannot set foot here, but that will not stop them from trying to gain the book by other means."

"Well, then, let's keep them from getting the book at all." Enjolras set the book on the ground. "Do you still have the lighter?"

Grantaire pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it to Enjolras. He lit it and held the tiny flame to one corner of the dry paper--

\--and nothing happened.

"It's protected," Eponine said. "By _magic_."

Enjolras snapped the lighter closed. "Well, it was worth a try, right?"

"I think you just like playing with the lighter," Grantaire said. "You think it makes you look cool."

"Shut up." Enjolras tucked the lighter into his pocket again.

"Hey, I didn't say you were _wrong_."

"At least I didn't summon the _burning rain of death_ to distract the witches."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but--"

A sharp, wicked laugh sounded from the air above the graveyard. "What bright little children, running to hallowed ground." The witches hovered above them on gnarled broomsticks.

Enjolras leapt to his feet, putting himself between Cosette and the witches. "Go away," he said, with a courage he didn't quite feel. He picked up the book and held it to his chest, wondering if they could call it to them by magic.

Eponine added a sharp hiss, and Winifred laughed. "Ah, Eponine, thou wretched feline. Still alive?" she taunted. "How dost thou like it?"

"I'll outlive _you_ ," she said, baring her claws.

"Are you sure antagonizing them is the best way to go?" Grantaire muttered.

"Why not?" Cosette asked. "The witches can't set foot here, she said so."

Eponine ducked her head. "Well, _they_ can't."

"I really don't like the way you said that," Cosette said.

Winifred was conferring with her sisters. "We cannot catch them ourselves, but perhaps we can turn our old enemy to our cause." She pointed to a cracked, lichen-covered gravestone near Cosette's feet, and she began to chant. " _Hateful hunter, long since dead, deep asleep in thy wormy bed. Twist thy bones, straighten thy spine, bring to me what should be mine!_ "

The earth in front of the headstone shifted. The sod split as something--a _hand_ \--reached up through the crumbling dirt.

Cosette screamed, and Enjolras pulled her away from the grave just as a zombie wrenched itself up out of the earth--a zombie with muttonchops and the long-suffering look of one who had been roused too early from his sleep. He looked up at the witches with undisguised loathing, but he stood before them as if waiting to be commanded.

Sarah smiled and waved at the zombie, to no effect. Winifred snapped her fingers. "Javert, they have stolen from me. I want my property returned-- _bring me my book_."

The zombie swung around to look at Grantaire, Cosette, and Enjolras--still clutching the book--and took a ponderous step forward.

"Okay, time to go," Grantaire said. He pushed Enjolras and Cosette in front of him, and they ran.

"This way!" Eponine said, slipping ahead of them. She led them through the cemetery, down rows of unkempt graves to a mausoleum supported by marble columns. The door was slightly ajar, and Eponine slipped inside.

Cosette pulled up short. "Are there dead people in there?"

"There's a dead person _chasing us_ ," Grantaire pointed out.

"Oh. Good point."

Grantaire pried the heavy brass door open wide enough to let them squeeze inside. He shoved it closed just as the zombie reached it, and he leaned his back against it when the zombie pounded one fist against the surface. 

"Can you lock it?" Enjolras asked.

"Are you kidding me? What kind of mausoleum locks from the  _inside_?"

"It was just a question," Enjolras huffed. He managed to spark the lighter again, and Grantaire turned on his phone, so two warring lights brightened the inside of the mausoleum. There were names on the walls, half-legible in the light, and the high, narrow windows were stained glass, dull and lifeless in the dark.

Enjolras wished they had Grantaire's flashlight, but that was lying abandoned on the floor of the Sanderson house, forgotten in their rush to escape.

Everything was silent, except for the heavy _thump thump_ of the zombie pounding on the mausoleum door, like a syncopated heartbeat.

"Did she really just raise a guy from the dead?" Cosette asked.

Grantaire nodded. "Yep, she did."

"And then set him on us like a hunting dog?" Enjolras asked.

"Yeah, that too."

"Who _was_ he?"

"His name was Javert. He was an inquisitor--a witch hunter, from the Sanderson sisters' time. He was the one who sentenced the sisters to be hanged. They say he was like a bulldog, that once he started hunting someone he never gave up. And it looks like the witches have him under their control now."

"Yeah, but he's a freaking _zombie_ ," Cosette said. "Won't somebody notice that?"

Grantaire sighed. "It's Halloween, kiddo. They'll probably give him a prize."

Cosette sat down on the floor, having apparently made peace with being surrounded by entombed bodies. Eponine curled up on the cold marble floor beside her, and Enjolras took the first deep breath he'd had all night. They were safe, they could just wait out the night here--

"Enjolras?" Grantaire said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"We can't hide in here all night."

His heart sank. "Why _not_?"

Grantaire looked pointedly at Cosette, who was absently petting Eponine's head, and lowered his voice even further. "Because he's starting to put a dent in the door."

"Shit," Enjolras muttered.

Cosette looked up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied.

"You don't curse unless something's wrong," she said flatly.

Grantaire picked up the explanation. "We can't stay here all night, or Javert's going to break down the door. But if we can get out of here without him realizing we're gone, we'll have a good head-start."

Cosette looked around. "Um, I don't know if you've noticed, but these windows are _tiny_. I don't think anybody but Eponine could fit through one--and I'm pretty sure Javert would hear the glass shattering, too."

"We're not going out the window--we're going underground," Grantaire said. "You see the ring set into the floor? The center block lifts up. It should lead down to the crypt."

"To the _what_?"

"There's an old crypt system here, a kind of catacomb thing. The graveyard is more than three hundred years old--when a family filled up their mausoleum, sometimes they moved older bones underground to make room for more generations of the dead."

"That is _deeply_ disturbing," Cosette said.

"Yeah, well, you haven't even been down there yet," Grantaire replied ruefully. "The good thing is, there's an exit just outside the cemetery gates. It's a little outbuilding that leads directly to the street."

Enjolras frowned. "How do you know it won't be locked?"

"It will be," Grantaire said. "But I've got a set of lockpicks and very steady hands."

" _Lockpicks_? Why would you have--okay, that's a dumb question. But why would you have them with you?"

He shrugged. "I couldn't be sure the locks hadn't been changed on the Sanderson house, and I didn't want to disappoint you when I'd promised you a tour."

"Yeah, imagine how disappointed we'd be if we weren't being chased by zombies and witches," Enjolras said, deadpan.

"Hey, don't look at me. We _told_ you not to light the goddamn candle--"

"No, you didn't! You told me to give it a try!"

"Well, I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to actually do it. What kind of an idiot tempts fate like that? Do you go around breaking mirrors and walking under ladders and playing with black cats, too? Because--"

"Hey," Cosette said, glaring up at him. "Watch your language." She patted Eponine's head defensively.

"Sorry. Your brother's still an idiot, though."

"Go to hell," Enjolras snapped.

"I'd say there's a better-than-even chance that we'll end up there _tonight_ , thanks to your egotistical need to prove that you're better than everyone who lives in this--"

The loudest thud yet came from behind the door, and the hinges screamed in protest. Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged glances.

"Right," Enjolras said. "Crypt?"

Grantaire nodded. "Crypt. Come help me lift the block."

Enjolras handed the book to Cosette, who made a face and held it at arm's length. Together, he and Grantaire heaved the marble panel up from the floor on hidden hinges. Enjolras peered down into the gaping hole it left and saw metal rungs affixed to the wall for the first two or three feet, and then darkness.

Grantaire held his phone above the hole, dimly illuminating the rest of the ten-foot drop; fortunately, the ladder appeared to go all the way down. "I'll go first--if it'll hold me, it'll hold you, right?"

Enjolras frowned, questioning the logic of that statement, but Grantaire was already starting down. The weak light from the phone didn't do much to illuminate his descent, so Enjolras was mostly watching Grantaire's dark hair among the rest of the darkness.

"Almost there--" Grantaire said, and then there was a scrape, a metallic clatter, and a thud.

" _Grantaire_?"

"I think the last rung's a little rusty," he said, his voice echoing from the chamber below.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just be careful. Now hurry up and get down here before the dead guy breaks through the door."

"I'm sending Cosette down next," Enjolras called out. He took the book from her and reached for Eponine, who sighed and draped herself around Cosette's shoulders like she belonged there. Cosette smiled a little, and she started down the ladder.

The pounding on the door intensified, as though Javert knew they were escaping. Each impact came with a shriek of tortured metal now.

"I've got her," Grantaire called up. "Now get down here."

Enjolras eyed the book darkly. "I'm going to throw the book down first. Will you catch it?"

"Fuck _catching_ it," Grantaire said. "We couldn't set it on fire; a ten-foot drop isn't going to hurt anything."

"Fair enough." Enjolras tossed the book down into the crypt and followed the others. He reached up and pulled the stone trap-door down over him. It protested for the first few inches, then closed with a sepulchral slam, leaving him in darkness.

But below him was Grantaire, and the light from his phone. Enjolras descended towards the light.

"Almost there," Grantaire said. "Just two more rungs, and--"

The last rung gave completely beneath him, and he fell backwards. Grantaire caught him around the shoulders just before he would have hit the ground. "I _told_ you the last rung was rusty," he said.

Enjolras stared up at him for a second, dimly realizing that he ought to be more annoyed by the rescue than he really was. For a second, it seemed like Grantaire was leaning _closer_ , almost like he was going to--

An echoing _clang_ from above interrupted them. Enjolras levered himself upright and picked up the book. "He's getting through," he said unnecessarily. "Come on, let's go."

He held the lighter up in front of him, and he caught glimpses and flashes of the crypt as they walked. They moved as quickly as they could without tripping over loose bricks...or worse. There were fewer bones than he'd expected to see, having heard Courfeyrac's lurid stories about the Paris catacombs, but there were still more than he was really comfortable having around him. The light flickered in the hollow sockets of a yellowed skull, and Enjolras snapped the lighter closed immediately.

"Cosette, keep your eyes on the floor," he said.

"Oh yeah, sure. As long as I look at the floor, I can forget about being _freaking surrounded by bones_."

"It's okay," Eponine added. "The mice down here are delicious."

"Mice, yeah. That...doesn't help a lot."

"It's safe," Eponine said, more gently. "Nothing down here can hurt you."

"Except the zombie chasing us."

"Yes, but he'd have to catch us first," she said smugly.

Enjolras had been considering the Javert problem, and he slipped past Cosette and Eponine to talk to Grantaire. "How long does it take you to pick a lock?" he asked quietly.

"A couple of minutes. Why? You worried he'll catch up?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes. As though they had anything _else_ to be worried about at this particular moment.

"Relax. It'll be fine."

After what felt like miles, they came to another ladder, leading up to another trap-door in the ceiling. Grantaire climbed up and pushed on the trap-door.

It didn't move.

"Uh...not to worry anyone, but I think the door might be stuck."

If they couldn't open the trap-door, then they had no way out. The other ladders they'd passed would all lead up into mausoleums well inside the cemetery gates--it might get them out of Javert's way, but then they'd be locked in a mausoleum with no way out except back down, past the undead witch-hunter who would no doubt be waiting for them.

"Try again," Enjolras said. "Maybe it's rusty, or there's something on top of it..."

"I _am_ trying." Grantaire balanced himself on the narrow metal rung and heaved upwards, but the door didn't move.

"Are there any other exits?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"Then I guess you'd better keep trying."

"Thanks for the advice. You want to come up here and take a turn, or is supervising your main contribution for the evening?"

Enjolras didn't think they could both fit on the narrow rungs of the ladder without knocking each other to the ground. But he climbed up anyway, balancing awkwardly against the wall, and put his hands on the trap-door next to Grantaire's.

"On three," Grantaire said. "One, two-- _three_."

They shoved together, and Enjolras thought he felt the stone slip.

"Again."

This time, there was a shriek of rusted metal, the slab lifted an inch or two. Grantaire heaved a sigh of relief and used his newfound leverage to push the trap-door up the rest of the way and climb into the room above.

It was only slightly larger than an outhouse, just a tiny room with a door at either end. The three of them barely fit, and Eponine had to climb back up onto Cosette's shoulders to keep from getting stepped on.

Enjolras let the heavy trap-door fall back into place, and Grantaire turned his attention to the door.

"This used to be the gatehouse, by the lich-gate," he said, pulling a small bundle out of his jacket pocket. "When they needed a gate that was big enough for an actual _car_ to get through, they built a wall around this part and put the new gate on the other side of the cemetery--but this was a historical artifact, so it stayed." He unrolled the bundle and selected two thin metal rods that looked like dentist's tools. He handed the phone to Cosette. "Keep the light steady, okay, kiddo?"

She held the phone up, and Grantaire got to work.

It probably hadn't been more than a minute, but it felt like twenty, when they started to hear noises in the darkness of the crypt below. The sounds seemed to approach and recede in odd waves as the crypt echoed and magnified the noises--Javert might be fifty feet away, or five hundred.

"Quit fidgeting, Enjolras. You can't rush these things."

"There's a zombie chasing us. You don't think that's worth rushing a _little_?"

"Hush, you're scaring the kid."

"No, he's not," Cosette protested, too quickly.

"Anyway, I've almost--" The lock clicked open, and the door with it, and they went tumbling out onto the sidewalk, book, cat, and all.

Grantaire scrambled to his feet and slammed the door shut. Even though the door wouldn't stop Javert for long, it still felt nice to have a barrier between them and the zombie. They waited in silence for a moment, wondering if the witches had guessed their plan, but there was no cackle, no rush of brooms overhead.

Grantaire let out a breath and closed his eyes, leaning back against the cemetery wall.

"How do you know all this stuff?" Enjolras asked. "About the crypt, and the lich-gate, and everything?"

He opened his eyes. "I told you--terrible taste in guys. I hung out here with Monty a lot, back before he decided on a career in bike theft and misdemeanor assault."

Cosette made a face at the mention of Monty's name. "Don't forget candy extortion."

"He took your _candy_? That little shit, picking on kids--"

"Yeah, but I think we have bigger problems now," Cosette said. "Like the fact that the witches are still out there?"

"I know," Enjolras said, steeling himself. "I think it's time to call in the cavalry."

"You don't happen to mean _literal_ cavalry, do you?" Grantaire asked. "Because that might actually be useful."

"No. We're going to go find our parents. Cosette, where was this party they went to?"

"City Hall, I think."

Grantaire nodded. "There's a huge party there every Halloween. Every adult in town is either there, or at my parents' place."

"Okay. So we're going to City Hall to get Mom and Dad, and we'll figure out what to do from there."

Cosette looked relieved, like she believed that no matter what, their parents would be able to fix the problem. Enjolras wasn't so sure.

Cosette looked up at Grantaire. "What about your parents? Do you think they'd listen to us? I mean, your mom ran the museum--"

"My mom, uh...can't help us," Grantaire said gently. "My dad and Samantha--they're great, really, but they never really believed in the witches. Dad doesn't even care for Halloween anymore. The only reason he still has the party every year is because...well, because Mom loved it."

"I'm sorry," Enjolras said.

Grantaire visibly forced himself to focus, hauled himself to his feet, and then held out a hand to help Cosette up. "Come on. City Hall's this way."

Before Enjolras could talk himself out of it, he caught Grantaire's free hand and squeezed, just a little. Grantaire squeezed back, and the frown on his face lightened a little.

He didn't let go for a whole block.

* * *

 

The crowd at City Hall was incredible--hundreds of people crammed into the building, lit by flashing green lights that distorted as much as they illuminated. The stage at the front was the only way they had of orienting themselves in the mass of people, but the wall of sound coming from the band wasn't exactly helping matters.

"Should we split up or stay together?" Grantaire asked over the noise.

"Stay together!" Cosette and Enjolras shouted in unison. "Haven't you ever seen a horror movie?" Enjolras added wryly. "Nobody leaves the group. Including you, Eponine."

She hissed from her position on Cosette's shoulder. "I'm three hundred years older than you. Don't try to give me orders."

"Then don't get lost," he replied. "Remember, we're looking for a Phantom of the Opera and Christine."

Grantaire snorted. "Who'd take the Phantom over Raoul?"

"That's what we said. But apparently Raoul doesn't make for a very impressive costume."

"I see."

They started at the back of the hall, near the refreshments. "Hey, hang on a second." Grantaire ducked between two dancers and poured himself half a cup of punch.

"What are you _doing_?"

Grantaire tasted the punch and made a face. "Not nearly spiked enough." He abandoned the cup on the refreshments table, ignoring Enjolras' impatient sigh. They worked their way through the crush of people, looking for familiar faces.

Somewhere around the middle of the dance floor, Cosette shouted. "Enjolras, I see Mom!"

He looked up and caught sight of a red silk dress in the direction Cosette was pointing. "That's her. Come on!"

They pushed through the crowd, jostling a dozen dancers out of the way as they went. "Mom? Mom!" Cosette shouted, almost colliding with Fantine.

She looked down at Cosette in shock, and then up at Enjolras. "What are you doing here? And is that a cat?"

"Her name is Eponine," Cosette said. "She can talk."

 _Not_ the best beginning. Enjolras took over. "We went exploring at the Sanderson sisters' house, and we accidentally brought the witches back. We took their spell-book, and now they're after us because they need it to steal the lives of every child in Salem so that they can live forever."

"Uh-huh," Fantine said. She glanced over at Grantaire. "And who's this?"

"This is Grantaire. He's...a friend of mine, from school."

Fantine beamed. "See, I _told_ you you'd make friends here, didn't I?"

"Yeah, okay, but the _witches_ , Mom."

"Explain it to me again?"

Enjolras took a deep breath. "Grantaire's family used to own the Sanderson museum. As a joke, I tried to light the black-flame candle, but it _worked_ and the witches came back from the dead. They want to steal the lives of the children of Salem to keep themselves young forever, but they can't do it without the spell-book. Which we have." Enjolras held up the book, noticing that the eye was closed. "So now the witches are after us."

Fantine's smile had melted away about halfway through his explanation, and now she was frowning. "Enjolras, I'm surprised at you," she chided. "Getting caught up in all this nonsense about witches. It isn't like you."

"Mom, I'm _serious_."

She looked from Enjolras to Grantaire and back again. "Have you been drinking, honey? Or trying...other things? You can tell me the truth; I won't be angry."

"I _am_ telling you the truth, I swear."

Enjolras could practically see her going through the options. Most of them probably ended in scheduling a visit to a psychologist. "Okay. I'm going to go get your father, and we'll go home and sort this out."

As plans went, it wasn't the worst. The book would be protected, and if the witches came for it, their parents would have no choice but to believe what was happening.

"Stay right here. I'll be back." Fantine made her way through the crowd in search of her husband.

Almost as soon as she disappeared, Grantaire caught Enjolras' arm. "We've got trouble," he said. "They're here."

"What?" Enjolras turned to look at the stage, where the three Sanderson sisters were standing behind the microphones. As they watched, the witches began to sing.

Grantaire let go of Enjolras' arm to cover his ears. "Don't listen!" he shouted over the song. "Cover your ears!" Enjolras and Cosette covered their ears, too, but they were the only ones. Everyone else in the ballroom was dancing and laughing and staring up at the witches on stage.

With his ears covered, Enjolras could only hear a dim murmur of the witches' song. When it ended, he let his hands fall.

"Dance, dance--dance until you die!" Winifred cackled.

Enjolras' heart sank. "I have to go find Mom," he said, leaning towards Grantaire so he could be heard.

"It's too late," Grantaire countered, reaching for him, but Enjolras was already winding through the crowd, dodging vampire capes and mummy bandages in search of Fantine.

He found her in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with Jean.

"Mom? Dad?"

They didn't even pause. Their eyes had gone glassy and unfocused, staring right past him as they danced.

"They can't hear us," Grantaire said, pushing past a Swamp Thing who was doing the Charleston. "None of them can."

"She cast a spell to keep them dancing?"

"It's perfect," Cosette said dully. "If the adults are bewitched, there's nobody to stop them from taking all the children they want."

"Then I guess it's up to us," Enjolras said, with more confidence than he really felt. Judging by Grantaire's expression, he didn't have any more faith in their witch-hunting skills than Enjolras did.

"At least they don't know we're here," Grantaire said. "That should give us a little bit of time to regroup. Because I don't care how weak that spiked punch is--if we're going to be dealing with witches all night, I want more."

Enjolras looked around the room to confirm that the witches were really gone. All that was left was a sea of costumed people, dancing like mindless zombies--

Except for the zombie in period costume, shuffling towards them with determination. "Javert," he said, pushing Cosette towards the nearest exit. "Go, go, _go_."

They hit the stairwell running, nearly falling in their rush to put space between themselves and Javert. They were two stories down when they heard the double doors above them opening. They picked up speed.

At the bottom of the last flight of stairs, Enjolras shoved open the fire door, and they spilled out onto the street. "Which way?"

"Doesn't matter," Grantaire said.

Enjolras went left, around the building, and found himself standing in a dead-end alley, with junk piled in front of a high chain-link fence at the far end.

The fence was topped with concertina wire.

"Oh," Grantaire said. "I guess it matters."

When they turned to go back, they found Javert standing in the mouth of the alley. Grantaire looked over his shoulder at Enjolras. "See if you can get Cosette over the fence. I'll hold him off."

"What? You can't _hold him off_. What are you going to do?"

He picked up a splintered piece of two-by-four and swung it experimentally. "Just _go_."

Enjolras turned around and climbed up the pile of trash that stood in front of the fence. He hooked his fingers into the chain-link and pulled himself up higher, enough to get an extremely close look at the long barbs of the razor wire. He dropped back to the ground and shrugged out of his jacket. The fabric was thick, and the barbs might not slice it up right away. If he could cover the wire, Cosette might be able to make it over the fence before the barbs cut through the cloth.

He was realistic enough to know that it wouldn't last long enough to get _him_ over the fence, too.

At the mouth of the alley, Grantaire was holding the chunk of two-by-four in front of him in a guard position, like he was about to start fencing with Javert. Enjolras turned to Cosette. "Do you think you can climb up?"

She shook her head.

"Come on, I'll help you." He slung his jacket up over the concertina wire, wincing as it snagged on the barbs. He caught Cosette around the waist and boosted her up, but she clung to the chain-links in terror, unable to climb any higher.

"Cosette?"

"I can't! The wire will cut me and then I'll fall."

"No, you'll be okay. Just try."

"I _am_ trying!" she wailed.

"Okay, okay." Enjolras helped her down, and she clung to him.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't do it, I couldn't move."

"It's okay," he said, hugging her gently. It had been a long shot, anyway. "Listen, I'm going to try something. If you see an opening, run, and don't stop till you reach hallowed ground, okay?"

"What about you?"

"Just do it. Eponine, stay with her. We'll be right behind you."

Cosette was old enough to know that for the lie it was, but she nodded. Enjolras handed her the book and walked up to where Grantaire was trying to fend off Javert. He was being driven deeper into the alley--slowly, but eventually he would be cornered, along with the rest of them.

"You stole the book," Javert rumbled, advancing one shuffling step. Enjolras hadn't been aware that zombies could talk.

Grantaire swung the two-by-four and took a step back. "Yes, but--"

Enjolras cut in front of him, blocking Grantaire from Javert's sight. "The book doesn't belong to Winifred Sanderson anymore," he said calmly. "It belongs in a museum."

"How is that going to help us, Indiana Jones?" Grantaire muttered.

"Just cover me." He turned back to Javert. "After the witches were hanged, the book remained in the house, which was turned into a museum. And Grantaire's mother _ran_ the museum, so the book technically belongs to his family anyway. He has at least as much right to it as Winifred Sanderson does, so it isn't stolen at all."

Javert was already reaching out, probably with the intent to strangle them. He stopped abruptly, tilted his head, and let his hand fall. It was hard to tell, but he looked almost relieved.

He opened his mouth, and a harsh, grating sigh came out. "You have freed me from the burden of following the witch's command, and for that I thank you." He bowed to them.

"Oh," Enjolras said. "It's...no problem, really." Beside him, Grantaire slowly lowered the two-by-four.

"If there is any way I might aid you in returning the sisters to their graves, you have only to ask."

"Is it safe?" Cosette asked, from the back of the alley.

"Yes," Enjolras called back to her. "You can come here, it's okay. Bring the book."

"Are you _serious_?" she asked, but she came forward anyway, clutching the book to her chest. She stopped well out of Javert's reach.

Javert bowed to her, and she gave Enjolras a disbelieving look before dropping into a curtsey. "In case you're wondering, I'm not a real witch," she said quickly. "It's just a costume, okay?"

Javert nodded solemnly, as though this was nothing unusual.

"So what do we do now?" Enjolras asked. "We can't just keep running all night--there has to be a way to stop them."

Grantaire nodded. "I've been thinking about that, actually. I was thinking we should try to lure them to the school."

"What good is that going to do?"

"The art room has a kiln," Grantaire said. "If we can get them in there and bar the door..."

Burning witches. Gruesome, but at least there was precedent. Enjolras nodded. "Okay. Which way is the school from here?"

Grantaire led them away from City Hall and the dead-end alley. Enjolras kept pace with him, and Cosette followed with Eponine, leaving Javert as the rearguard.

"How did you know that would work?" Grantaire asked. "The thing about the book not belonging to Winifred anymore."

"I didn't," he admitted. "But we were out of options. I gave the book to Cosette and hoped she'd have the sense to make a break for it if Javert decided to eat our brains."

"Well, at least you've got your priorities in order."

Enjolras laughed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was cold without his jacket, which was still snagged on top of the concertina wire in the alley behind City Hall. He wasn't sorry he'd tried to get Cosette over the fence, but he would have liked to have the jacket anyway.

Two minutes later, something warm and soft draped itself across his shoulders, and Enjolras almost jumped out of his skin. "What the--" He turned to see Grantaire, frozen in the act of throwing his own sweatshirt over Enjolras' shoulders.

"You looked cold," he said.

Enjolras eyed Grantaire's t-shirt, blown tight against his chest by a puff of wind. "You'll freeze."

"I'll be fine. Terror keeps me warm. Just put it on, okay?"

Enjolras pulled the hoodie over his head, trying not to think about how it smelled faintly of whatever shampoo or cologne Grantaire used, and he sighed. He _did_ feel better.

Grantaire reached out and flipped the hood up so it fell over Enjolras' eyes. Enjolras made a face and pushed it back. "Green isn't really my color," he said.

Grantaire studied him carefully. "I like it on you," he said.

Well, Enjolras supposed he could get used to it.

They rounded a corner down the street from the school and saw a figure wheeling a very familiar bike down the street towards them.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake," Enjolras muttered. They didn't have time for this.

Grantaire cleared his throat. "Um, Javert, sir? I have a favor to ask you."

"If it is within my power," Javert replied gravely.

Grantaire grinned and dropped back to say something to Javert. Then he picked up his pace, walking forward with a confidence that was almost a strut. Enjolras realized that he was standing on the sidewalk staring at Grantaire's ass, and he hurried to catch up with him.

That was about the time Monty recognized them.

His eyes flickered from Enjolras to Grantaire, and his mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. " _Really_ , R? Shacking up with the new kid? I know you don't have a lot of social capital these days, but surely you can do better than _that_."

"Fuck you, man. I traded up."

Monty's hands curled into fists.

"So I heard you stole Enjolras' bike," Grantaire said loudly.

Enjolras frowned. "What are you doing?"

"What are you going to do about it?" Monty challenged.

"Me? Nothing," Grantaire replied. "But I think you should give it back."

"Do you?"

"It's in your best interests, yeah."

Monty laughed. "Haven't you heard? Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

" _I_ am the law," Javert growled, emerging from the shadows behind Monty. "Return the boy's property to him now."

Monty stared at the zombie for a solid ten seconds. "Cool costume," he ventured.

Javert bared his teeth in a savage approximation of a smile.

Monty fled, and Enjolras caught the bike before it could hit the ground. "Thanks," he said, to Grantaire and to Javert. The lock was still wrapped around the body of the bike where he'd left it, so he used it to fasten the bike to a tree at the edge of the street.

"Okay, so that's one problem solved," Grantaire said. "Now let's get to the school."

Enjolras hefted the book. "I can handle it from here. I want you to take Cosette back to your house and _don't let her out of your sight_."

"What? No, we're not leaving you."

"I started this, and I'm going to finish it. I don't want to put anyone else in danger."

Grantaire laughed. "You're going to finish it--alone? In a city you barely know?"

"I can _see_ the school from here. I'll be fine."

"But how are you going to get in?" Grantaire held up the lockpicks. "Look, we're all in this until it's over, so stop trying to protect us."

"But if something happens--"

"Nothing's going to happen."

"But if it does, it's _my fault_. The witches wouldn't be back if it wasn't for me."

Grantaire shook his head. "I goaded you into it, remember? So I'm going to help you finish it. You can send Cosette somewhere with Javert if you want, but I'm staying with you."

"I'm not going with the zombie," Cosette announced. "No offense," she added, looking up at Javert.

"Okay," Enjolras said finally. "Let's go."

The walk to the school was eerie and silent. Trick-or-treating hours were long since over, and the whole town seemed deserted. The school loomed up at the end of the street, a darker shadow against the moonlit sky. At the door, Grantaire turned back. "Javert? Do you think you could get the witches to come here?"

He frowned, apparently having trouble with the concept of luring people--even witches--to their deaths.

"All you have to do is tell them that we're hiding here, which is the truth. Anything that happens after that is their problem, not yours."

He nodded.

"And then you could...go back to sleep, I guess?" Grantaire hazarded.

Javert dropped into a short bow. "That would be a great relief." He turned to go, and Grantaire unlocked the school doors with unnerving efficiency.

"You've done this before," Enjolras said.

"Prove it." Grantaire held the door wide for Enjolras and Cosette.

They made their way through the darkened hallways, every step squeaking on the polished linoleum. Grantaire broke into the principal's office with the same alarming ease, and in a matter of minutes he was stationed there with the microphone, testing the loudspeakers.

"Remind me why we need this again?" Enjolras asked.

"Because it'll distract the witches and hopefully keep them from figuring out that we're leading them to their deaths."

"Right. Keep Cosette with you, okay? They shouldn't be able to find you here."

"What about you?"

" _Somebody_ has to lock them in the kiln," Enjolras said.

"You don't even know where the art room is."

"So show me. Javert can't have found the witches yet--we have time."

Grantaire led them up the stairs and down a long corridor to a door that stood next to Enjolras' French classroom. "You know, if you'd told me it was next to French, I could have found it myself."

"Well, _excusez-moi_ for not knowing your schedule," Grantaire said. He pushed open the door to the art room and led Enjolras to the kiln, which looked like an oversized wardrobe made out of steel. He said as much to Grantaire.

"Yeah, only this one doesn't take you to Narnia. All you have to do is shut the door and turn this dial all the way up." He pointed to the controls on the wall. "We'll come and find you as soon as we hear the door slam."

"Will you be able to hear it downstairs?"

"Trust me. When that thing closes, you can hear it halfway across town."

"All right. Get back to Cosette--I'll take it from here."

Grantaire nodded, but he stopped in the doorway. "Look, if it's not going to work...just get out of here. Don't try to make some kind of heroic stand, okay? That's how people get turned into cats. Or zombies."

"I know."

Grantaire looked satisfied as he walked back downstairs, but Enjolras hadn't technically given him an answer. No matter what, the witches weren't leaving this school. And if that meant Enjolras didn't leave it, either...he could make his peace with that.

In the interminable wait that followed, he borrowed an old stereo and a CD of conversational French from the classroom next door and set it up just out of sight in the corner of the kiln. He left it on, speaking bland French translations on repeat, and then he settled in to hide behind the classroom door.

He knew when the witches had arrived, because Grantaire's voice came over the speakers, doing terrible impressions of game-show hosts along with a solid Vincent-Price laugh. In between, Cosette added mocking little comments. "Come and get me," she said. "Bet you can't find me..."

Enjolras wasn't sure if it was a great idea to be taunting the witches, but then again, it wasn't as though it could really make the situation any _worse_. With any luck, in a few minutes it wouldn't matter anymore.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Enjolras crouched down behind the open door. If the witches didn't fall for the trick, he would either have to fight, or lock them in the room and run...

Three shadows passed him by, slipping up to the kiln door almost silently. Enjolras held his breath, waiting.

With a triumphant shriek, the witches pounced on the stereo, stepping over the threshold and into the kiln.

Enjolras threw his weight against the massive kiln door and heaved it shut. The deep _clang_ echoed down the hall. He locked the door in place, flipped the power switch, and turned the dial all the way up.

Inside the kiln, the witches pounded on the door, cursing and shouting, but the thick steel of the door was enough to keep their spells from getting through.

Running footsteps approached the room, and Grantaire and Cosette stopped in the doorway, breathless. Cosette was carrying Eponine, and Grantaire had the book.

"Did it work?" Grantaire asked.

"They're inside," Enjolras said unnecessarily, listening to the witches yell. None of them dared to look through the thick glass window set into the door.

"How long do you think we have to wait?" Grantaire asked, a few minutes later.

"They've stopped screaming," Cosette said, looking kind of green around the gills.

Enjolras wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go outside."

They left the kiln on, just in case.

The school's front lawn was wide and empty, already damp with dew. If you didn't look up to see the oily green smoke venting from the chimney, you wouldn't think anything was out of the ordinary.

Once they were away from the kiln, Cosette perked up.

"I can't believe it worked," Grantaire murmured.

"They're _gone_ ," Cosette said. "They're gone and it's over and we can go _home_."

Eponine let out a very human sigh, and Enjolras crouched down next to her. "You all right?"

"I had hoped that the end of the witches would bring an end to my curse."

"Oh. I'm sorry..."

She shook herself. "Take care of your sister, Enjolras. You won't know what she means to you until she's gone." She turned around and started walking away, a solitary shadow.

"Hey, Eponine! Where are you going?" Cosette called.

She paused.

"I thought you were coming home with us. I mean, you can if you want to..."

She arched her spine. "Do I look like a _housecat_ to you?"

"No, but with a few good meals you could probably pass for one. Want to give it a try?"

Eponine actually purred for a moment, but she broke off quickly. "I've played the housecat before. It is always a sad affair, in the end. One cannot stay too long, or the family will begin to wonder why the cat never grows old--and worse, one begins to see _them_ growing old. It hurts, to watch time pass for others while it stands still for you."

Enjolras shrugged. "We would make sure our families knew to look after you. I'm not saying it won't be sad, but at least you'll be cared for. You'll have family."

Another purr rumbled through her chest. " _Family_."

Not wanting to force the issue, Enjolras turned around and started towards home. But when he looked back, a few seconds later, Eponine was walking beside Cosette, like it was her rightful place in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cemetery is loosely based on Spring Grove Cemetery in Cincinnati, particularly the [Fleischmann mausoleum](https://www.google.com/search?q=fleischmann+mausoleum&rlz=1C1CHFX_enUS597US597&es_sm=93&nirf=fleischman+mausoleum&biw=942&bih=917&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=L19QVJGYLKvbsASEp4LIAQ&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAQ#imgdii=_) and one tiny stone lamb that was too weathered to read the name.
> 
> And no, there isn't a full moon on Halloween this year...but there wasn't one in 1993 when the movie came out, either. :)


	3. Chapter 3

When they got back to the house, Cosette took Eponine inside in search of tuna. Enjolras was on the point of following them when he realized that Grantaire had stopped on the porch. He turned back, smiling.

"I'm sorry. You didn't have to walk us home."

Grantaire laughed and shifted his grip on the book. "Are you kidding? After everything that's happened so far tonight? Yeah, I did. You might have found another candle to light, or something."

Enjolras made a face. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"I don't plan on it, no."

He looked down at the old boards of the porch floor, feeling like they were at the end of an apocalyptic date. "Do you want to come in?"

Grantaire stared at him.

"I don't mean--I...look, I'm just going to be staring at the clock until morning, anyway, and it would be nice to have company."

"You're not allowed to have boys over when Mom and Dad aren't home," Cosette called from inside.

" _Really_ , Cosette? After the witches and the zombies and all of that, you're going to make a fuss about the _rules_?"

She came back to the doorway with a can of tuna in hand and eyed Grantaire suspiciously. "Just this once," she said sternly. "And keep it PG."

Enjolras buried his face in his hands. "Go to bed, Cosette."

She rolled her eyes but started up the stairs anyway, with Eponine at her heels. Enjolras held the door open for Grantaire, and once they were inside he shut it and checked the lock twice.

Then they were standing together in the middle of the darkened living room, next to a couch that was looking more inviting every minute. All of a sudden, he didn't know what to say to Grantaire, or what to do with himself. Whatever equilibrium the Sanderson sisters had forced them into was beginning to shift, and Enjolras didn't know where they stood anymore. He turned on one of the table lamps for distraction, but it didn't help. Now he could _see_ Grantaire standing in front of him, and that was even worse. Or better. He honestly wasn't sure anymore.

"Can I see your room?" Grantaire asked.

"Is that a line?"

"Do you want it to be?"

Enjolras didn't have an answer to that. He led Grantaire up the stairs, past Cosette's door on the second floor to his own room at the very top of the house. "It's not very impressive," he warned. "Most of my stuff is still in boxes." He pushed open the door and turned on the light.

It wasn't hard to look at the room like he was seeing it for the first time; it didn't even feel like it belonged to him yet. He did sort of wish he'd made his bed, though. That would have helped.

Grantaire looked around without judgment, and then he caught sight of the iron staircase in the middle of the room. He walked over to it, evading stacks of books and boxes, and he looked up. "What's this?"

"It goes to the little tower at the top of the house."

"You have a tower in your bedroom? That is so cool." Grantaire started to climb up.

"What are you doing?"

He stopped. "Oh. Is it okay if I go up?"

"Yeah, it's just...it's still dark outside. You won't be able to see anything."

"So what?" Grantaire climbed the stairs and then called down to Enjolras. "Aren't you coming up?"

Enjolras followed him without hesitation.

The tiny tower room was really only big enough for one. A bench ran around the edge, but no matter where Enjolras sat, some part of him would be touching Grantaire. He shuffled around, trying to find a safe position--

"Oh my god, come _here_ ," Grantaire said. He laid the book aside, caught Enjolras' hand, and pulled him down to sit next to him. Their knees were touching, and their shoulders, and Grantaire hadn't let go of Enjolras' hand.

Grantaire seemed to realize it at the same moment. He started to let go, and Enjolras tightened his grip, just a little.

Grantaire smiled. "So this is okay?"

Enjolras nodded.

"Because I don't want to be pushy or anything."

"You're not. This is...fine. It's good."

"Good," Grantaire echoed. He leaned against the wall and let his thumb slide back and forth over the back of Enjolras' hand. This was only slightly less terrifying than facing down the witches, with a much greater chance that he'd live to regret any mistakes he made.

"Not bad for one evening's work, right?" Grantaire said. "Burned some witches, made friends with a zombie, acquired an antique book...you even got your bike back."

Enjolras laughed. It was still chained out near the school, but at least Monty didn't have it anymore.

He also didn't have _Grantaire_ anymore, which made Enjolras feel just a little bit smug. Not that _he_ had Grantaire, either--holding hands wasn't exactly an engagement--but there was potential there. Maybe.

That must have been the train of thought that prompted him to say, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Grantaire said.

"What's the deal with Monty? How did that--I mean, why would you...?"

"Oh. Yeah, okay, that's--a valid question." Grantaire sat up and let go of Enjolras' hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"Kill the mood? No, it's fine. I just, um, it's awkward." He took a deep breath. "So you know that my mom isn't around anymore, right? She, um...she died the summer after my freshman year."

"Oh, Grantaire."

"Yeah, it was...awful. I wouldn't wish it on anybody. The thing is, I didn't really deal with the grief in the healthiest of ways. I started skipping classes, hanging out with shitty people, doing stupid things...and then there was Monty, who was like the _king_ of stupid things. About a year later, my dad got remarried, and I guess I secretly blamed him for moving on or something--I don't know. I did a lot of things that I wasn't really ready for, and now I've got a sealed juvenile record and an inability to light black-flame candles." He turned a faint smile on Enjolras. "How's that for killing a mood?"

"I'm so sorry," Enjolras said. He didn't know what else to say. "About your mom. I can't imagine..."

"It's okay. _I'm_ okay, mostly. I got over it, as much as you ever get over that kind of thing. I hadn't spoken to Monty in over a year before tonight, and I've mostly stopped hanging out in graveyards and breaking into places--again, before tonight," he added ruefully. "I've even stopped skipping classes, although I still think getting into AP English was a clerical error."

"You wore a historically-accurate Robespierre costume because of _A Tale of Two Cities_. I don't think AP was a mistake."

"Sure, whatever," he said, clearly unconvinced. "Okay, my turn. Your boyfriend in California, why didn't you ever...?"

"Oh." Enjolras shrugged. "Combeferre's ace. He said he'd be willing to give it a try, if I wanted to, but I decided I wasn't ready, so we just...didn't."

"Good."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"That you didn't do something you weren't ready for," Grantaire clarified.

"I guess so."

"He sounds like a great guy."

Enjolras smiled. "He is."

"And that's why you want to go back to California as soon as you graduate?"

"Not really. Well--sort of. Like I said, he was my best friend long before anything else. And California has always been _home_ , you know? I couldn't imagine myself ever living anywhere else."

"Couldn't, or can't?"

Past tense, or present? "I wish I knew." Enjolras leaned back against the wall. It was so late that it was bordering on early--after three, and his parents still weren't home. He wondered if they were still at City Hall, if they were still under Winifred's spell...

"Hey." Grantaire nudged his shoulder. "You okay? You just got all tense."

"I was just thinking about what Winifred said-- _dance until you die_. What if the spell wasn't to make everyone at City Hall dance until sunrise, but to _literally_ make them dance until they died?"

"The witches are gone; the spell should fade, too."

"By that logic, Eponine should have turned back into a person as soon as we locked the witches in the kiln."

"I think the problem is that you're trying to apply logic to witchcraft. This isn't _Harry Potter_ ; you can't just wave around a tree branch and go ' _finite incantatem_ ' and it's all over."

"It has to have its own internal consistency," Enjolras argued. "If they're still cursed, we have to find a way to end it."

"Look, I know I talk a good game, and I know a lot about the history of the Sanderson sisters, but I don't _actually_ know witchcraft," Grantaire said gently.

"We have to do _something_ , though. Maybe there's something in the book."

Grantaire eyed the book warily. "Eponine said not to open the book."

"That was while the witches were alive--there can't be any harm in it now."

"Okay," Grantaire said at last. "It's worth a try."

Enjolras picked up the book. The eye was closed, to Enjolras' relief, and when he opened the cover, the book was large enough to spread over both their knees. They turned the vellum pages slowly, squinting at the old, faded handwriting. Enjolras found himself leaning closer, bending over the page so close to Grantaire that they were practically touching at the temples. All he would have to do was turn his head...

"Hey, here's something," Grantaire said. "It says you can protect yourself from spells with a circle of salt."

"Salt," Enjolras echoed, peering at the page.

"Good to know, right? Protection against witches and garden slugs."

"I'll keep it in mind for the next time we raise a bunch of witches from the dead."

"Bite your tongue," Grantaire said. They turned a few more pages, finding nothing more interesting than the bizarre spellings common to the seventeenth century. Spells to give your enemy warts, spells to make a river run backwards or a cow give sour milk--probably useful three hundred years ago, but not especially helpful now.

Grantaire turned a page. "Oh," he said, very softly.

Enjolras frowned at the faded, rust-black ink at the top of the page. _A Charm to Return the Dead to Lyfe_.

"Grantaire..."

He shook his head. "Don't. I know. I know we can't, and even if we could, it wouldn't be--it wouldn't be right. But I just--I miss her _so much_ , and to be able to see her again, even just for a minute..."

Enjolras lifted one hand to brush away the tears that tracked down Grantaire's face. "I'm so sorry," he said.

He took a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I thought I had a better grip on myself than this."

"Don't you dare apologize. I shouldn't have..." Enjolras closed the book and set it aside. "I don't think anything good can come out of that book, anyway."

"But your parents--"

"I'll wait and see what happens in the morning. If the spell hasn't broken, I'll go get help, even if I have to drive to the next town to find someone."

"What's all this _I_ shit?" Grantaire asked. "Didn't I say earlier that I was in this until it's over?"

"You did."

"Do you really think I'd leave you to do that alone?"

Enjolras looked down at his hands. "I just didn't want you to feel like you were obligated--you've done so much already, and it was my fault to begin with--"

"You never would have set foot inside that museum if it wasn't for me."

"You didn't _make_ me light the candle, though. _I_ did that."

"Hey, stop." Grantaire reached over and tipped Enjolras' face up. "You can't beat yourself up over it, okay?"

"But--"

"Stop," Grantaire said firmly. Enjolras reluctantly closed his mouth, and Grantaire smiled.

"Hey. You know that I like you, right?"

Enjolras' gaze strayed to Grantaire's mouth. "I don't know why. I've been sort of awful to you."

"What, you mean the phone-number thing? You were trying to protect yourself, I get it. And possibly my methods weren't the best--or my timing."

"It could have been better," Enjolras allowed. "Like maybe not in front of the whole class?"

Grantaire nodded. "Well," he said. "There's nobody else here now."

"That's true."

Grantaire leaned forward, close enough to rest his forehead against Enjolras'. He raised one hand to brush a lock of Enjolras' hair behind his ear.

They certainly _were_ alone now. Alone in the little tower, with windows on all four sides. It shouldn't have made him feel exposed; they were high enough that no one would be able to see them inside.

Unless they were on a broomstick.

Enjolras shivered suddenly.

Grantaire drew back a little. "Are you cold?"

"No, I just..." He sighed. "This is probably the stupidest thing I've ever said, but...if I went downstairs and got a canister of salt--just to be on the safe side--would you make fun of me?"

"That's not stupid. Actually, it might be the smartest thing anybody's said all night."

Enjolras rolled his eyes.  "Just stay here, I'll be right back."

"Like hell." Grantaire laid the book aside and followed Enjolras down the spiral staircase.

Maybe Enjolras wasn't the _only_ one who felt a little anxious up in the tower. He gathered his courage and reached back to take Grantaire's hand as they walked down the stairs. There was still no sign of his parents, which just built on his fears about Winifred's last spell.

He let go of Grantaire's hand and opened the pantry door; Grantaire hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, waiting.

After a moment of rummaging, Enjolras emerged with a mostly-full canister of salt. He tossed it to Grantaire, who peered at the back of the label. "Yeah, it says so right here. 'Protects against witches, slugs, and asshole ex-boyfriends.' Perfect."

Enjolras leaned one hip against the counter next to Grantaire. " _Ex_ -boyfriends, huh?" he said, suddenly daring. "What about potential new boyfriends?"

"Now, why would I want to scare one of those away?" Grantaire asked, very seriously. He leaned forward, and Enjolras let his eyes fall closed, waiting--

There was a thump and a distant yowl from upstairs. Enjolras pulled away. "Oh my god--Cosette."

He scrambled up the stairs, Grantaire on his heels, and shoved open the door to Cosette's room.

It was empty. The window was open, and the slit window-screen was stirring gently in the breeze.

"Oh, god."

"The book," Grantaire breathed. He took off running up the stairs to Enjolras' room. Enjolras vaguely registered his footsteps receding and returning, but he couldn't look away from the open window. He felt empty, hollowed out, with nothing left behind but fear.

"The book's gone, too," Grantaire said. "Enjolras? Did you hear me?"

He nodded. The witches had Cosette, and they had the book.

Grantaire squeezed his shoulder gently. "Hey, come on. _Focus_. They have your sister and the book. We have to stop them."

Enjolras took a breath. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd done that, but it was long enough to make him dizzy. "I know, but _how_?"

"We know they have to go back to the house. That's where the cauldron is, and whatever...ingredients they need. They're stuck there while they make the potion. We just have to--what's that?"

Far away, over the town, someone was singing.

_Come, little children, I'll take thee away--_

Enjolras winced and raised a hand to his temple. The song felt like someone was driving a drill-bit deep into his brain. The pain made his eyes water, and he blinked.

"Enjolras? Hey, are you all right?"

He looked at Grantaire, frowning. "Don't you _feel_ that?"

"...No?"

"The song, it--it hurts. I don't know what's happening, but there's something in the song."

Grantaire peered out the window. "There are kids walking down the street like zombies. It has to be some kind of spell."

"Then why don't you feel it?"

Grantaire considered. "Well, you're not really a _child_ , but maybe the song still affects you because of...you know..."

"Oh my god. Are you serious?"

"I'm just saying it's possible."

Enjolras groaned. "If I'd known my virginity was a matter of _life or death_ , I would have done something about it. When this is over, please remind me to do something about it."

"Sure, first thing on the agenda. Right after 'surviving until morning.' Of course, there are other possibilities. Like you might be having a massive panic attack, and the headache is psychosomatic."

"None of this actually _matters_ ," Enjolras pointed out in the lull between verses. "They've got Cosette, and soon they'll have every other child in Salem, too. We have to-- _aah_." Sarah's song started again, and Enjolras crumpled to his knees.

"I'll go after them."

"Not alone," Enjolras gritted out.

"Look, I appreciate the show of support, but we're a little pressed for time, and if your head hurts too badly to _walk_ \--"

"We're not going to walk." Enjolras dragged himself to his feet and down the stairs. He pulled a key-ring off the hook by the door. "We're taking the car."

"Great. I'm driving."

Enjolras handed over the keys after a moment's hesitation. "Yeah, okay."

Grantaire gave Enjolras the canister of salt and then led the way out to the SUV parked in the driveway. Enjolras collapsed into the passenger seat, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Do you--maybe we should take you to the hospital," Grantaire began.

"And tell them what, that I'm having a bad reaction to _witchcraft_? Just drive."

It was slow going. The children roused by Sarah's song were shuffling along the road with no regard for sidewalks or traffic flow, and no amount of shouting could wake them, or make them move any faster. Meanwhile, Enjolras and Grantaire put together a plan for rescuing Cosette.

It was a shitty plan. Like the burning rain of death, it depended way too much on timing and surprise and the witches' gullibility, but it was the only plan they had time to make.

At least Sarah had stopped singing.

By the time Grantaire pulled up near the witches' house, Enjolras' head was almost clear again. He opened the door. "Look, if Cosette comes out alone, you take her and you _go_ , understand? Don't worry about me."

"Fuck you," Grantaire snapped. "You can't ask me to--"

"Cosette is _all that matters now_. If something happens to her, I won't be able to live with myself."

Grantaire sighed. "Okay. But try not to let that happen, will you? We have some unfinished business, you and me."

"I know. Two minutes," Enjolras said.

"Here, take this." Grantaire passed Enjolras his phone. "Because I know yours is dead." The timer was already set.

"Then how will you...?"

Grantaire tapped the clock on the dashboard. "Two minutes. Go."

The time for stealth was over. Enjolras crossed the witches' lawn and shoved open the door, interrupting the witches at their work.

Cosette was tied to a chair, looking terrified but unharmed, and the witches were standing over a bubbling cauldron, eyeing its contents. At the slam of the door, they looked up.

"Oh, hello again," Sarah said, with a little wave. Winifred elbowed her sharply.

Enjolras drew in a deep breath. He had a knack for public speaking, for keeping the attention of a crowd, but he'd never made a speech as important as this one.

"You should be congratulated on how well you've adapted to the modern era," he said, pacing the edge of the room. He wanted to be as close to Cosette as possible when the time was right.

"Should we indeed?" Winifred countered, with the air of a particularly vicious cat playing with a caught mouse.

"You should. You've taken three hundred years of societal and technological advances in stride, even used them to your advantage. Cars, for example, and Halloween traditions. You've done well, really. But you might have missed a few things over the last three hundred years."

"Oh?" Mary asked. "Like what?"

Grantaire's phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling the end of the countdown, and Enjolras smiled. "Daylight savings time."

Sunlight burst through the mullioned windows on the cottage's eastern side. The witches shrieked and fell over each other in a race to find the darkest corner to hide in.

It would only buy them a minute or two. Enjolras crossed the room and loosened the ropes that bound Cosette to the chair. "Go outside," he said. "Grantaire's waiting."

She shook her head. "Eponine." She crossed the room to where a burlap sack had been hung high on the wall. Eponine emerged from the sack, snarling and baring her claws at the witches with her fur standing on end.

Enjolras braced himself against a pillar and kicked the cauldron over. The potion spilled out along the floorboards, hissing and smoking. Satisfied, he picked up the spell-book and turned back to find Cosette still standing by the door.

"What are you doing? I said _go_."

"No," Cosette snapped. "I want to see them burn."

"Yeah, about that..." Enjolras grabbed her hand and pulled her outside. Grantaire was sitting in the car with the high-beams pointed right into the eastern windows of the Sanderson house.

It was barely six; there was still an hour until dawn.

"Oh. Okay then." Cosette climbed into the back seat of the car, and Eponine leapt up to sit beside her. "Where are we going?"

"Cemetery," Grantaire said, putting the car into gear before Enjolras had even closed the door. He glanced into the rearview mirror. "You all right?"

" _All right_ is kind of pushing it, but they didn't make me drink the potion."

Grantaire smiled. "Best news I've heard all night."

"Here's some more," Enjolras said. "The potion's ruined. They won't have time to make a new one before morning. All we have to do now is get to the cemetery and stay there till dawn."

"Unless they raise someone else from the dead," Cosette pointed out.

"Thanks," Grantaire said. "That's a really lovely thought, Cosette." They turned the corner towards the cemetery, and Grantaire slammed on the brakes.

The high barred gates had been locked overnight.

"Shit."

Enjolras turned around in his seat. " _Cosette_!"

"What? You were thinking it, too."

Grantaire gave Enjolras a sidelong look. "We could ram the gates..."

"Hell, no." On the off-chance that they survived until sunrise, a smashed-in bumper was not going to be easy to explain. "The wall should be easy enough to climb."

Grantaire turned off the car. "You are no fun at all."

They scaled the stone cemetery wall, with Cosette clinging to Grantaire's back. As soon as they were all on hallowed ground, Grantaire swore.

"Salt," he said, and he climbed back over the wall. They waited tensely until he reappeared, dropping down to the ground with the canister in one hand.

"So, anybody want to let me in on the salt thing?" Cosette asked.

"It'll keep you safe from the witches," Enjolras explained.

Grantaire opened the canister of salt and poured it in a circle around Cosette. "Now, whatever happens, _don't leave the circle_ , okay? The witches can't get to you in here."

Cosette gave him a doubtful look, but Eponine nodded. "He's right. You'll be safe as long as you stay inside."

"Okay, but what about you guys? Couldn't you have made a bigger circle?"

Grantaire shook the empty container ruefully. "Nope."

"But what if the witches come after you?"

"Just stay in the circle, Cosette," Enjolras said sharply. "No matter what. They can't hurt you as long as you're inside the circle."

"But _you're_ not in the circle!" Cosette protested.

"I didn't say it was a perfect solution."

Grantaire caught Enjolras' arm. "They're here."

This time there was no cackle to announce the witches' approach--they were just _there_ , hovering above the cemetery.

To be fair, none of them seemed to be in a laughing mood anymore. Without speaking, Enjolras and Grantaire moved to stand in front of Cosette, blocking the witches' line of sight.

"I have had _just about enough_ of these three," Winifred snapped.

Eponine hissed.

"Four," Mary corrected helpfully.

"Oh, _four_ then. But the little brat was the one who started this, and now she's going to finish it."

"No, she's not." Enjolras stepped aside to reveal the salt circle.

Winifred laughed. "A circle of salt! What clever little white witches. But that will not save thee. Javert!"

A hand appeared from Javert's open grave, and the zombie climbed out of the hole.

"Shit," Grantaire muttered. "This could be bad."

But as Javert approached, he looked down at Cosette, and Enjolras could have _sworn_ that the zombie winked.

"Javert," Winifred called, "seize them. Bring the girl to me."

Instead, Javert took another staggering step to stand with Grantaire and Enjolras, placing himself between Cosette and the witches.

Grantaire grinned. "Yeah, I don't think he takes orders from you anymore."

Winifred snarled. "You broke the spell? _You_? Oh, when I get my hands on thee, child, you'll wish you'd never been born."

Javert's laugh was a grating, bone-chilling sound, and Enjolras was very, very glad that he was on their side now. He looked towards the horizon. Was it his imagination, or was it getting just a little brighter to the east? It _had_ to be near dawn. All they had to do was stall the witches a little longer, and keep their attention away from Cosette. Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire and stepped forward to stand alone in front of the witches.

" _I_ was the one who lit the candle, and I'm the one who ruined your potion. Leave Cosette alone."

"Ahh, I see now." Winifred brandished a tiny vial of shimmering silver liquid. "But thou didst not finish the job, boy. Perhaps _that's_ why thou couldst light the candle, hm?"

Sarah giggled. "I can fix that for thee. I know _lots_ of spells to help."

"You're not my type," Enjolras replied flatly, fighting down a wave of panic. It wasn't a waiting game anymore--the witches still had the potion. The situation could get ugly fast.

The sisters dropped as low as they dared, trying to surround Enjolras, Javert, and Cosette. Enjolras had a brief moment of panic in which he looked for Grantaire and _couldn't find him_ , but then a shadow stepped out from behind a tree, holding a broken branch high. Grantaire took a step forward and swung the branch as hard as he could.

The blow knocked Winifred sideways and almost off her broom, but she recovered and raised her hand. "Enough!" A wave of lightning shot from her palm, throwing Grantaire back against a high marble tombstone. He slumped at the base of it and didn't move. Enjolras took a single step in Grantaire's direction, and the lightning bolt that Winifred aimed at him went wide. It blew a six-inch hole in the dirt at his feet, and the jarring impact knocked him to the ground.

"Enjolras!" Cosette took a halting step forward, smearing the salt circle, and Winifred swept her up before Enjolras or Javert could stop her. Eponine leapt at her, claws flashing, but Winifred lifted the broom out of her reach.

She held up the vial. "Just enough left for one. Now open your mouth."

Cosette bit down on her lips and squirmed, trying to make Winifred drop her. Enjolras watched helplessly from below.

Then Eponine leapt out of a tree and onto Winifred's shoulder, hissing and clawing. Winifred reached up to throw her off, and the vial slipped from her hands to fall in a soft pile of grave dirt. Enjolras scooped it up and held it over a headstone.

"Let her go or I'll smash it."

Winifred lifted the broom higher and tightened her grip on Cosette. "Smash it and she dies."

Enjolras looked up at Cosette, and then over at Grantaire, who was stirring. There wasn't much of a choice.

A strange sort of calm came over him, and he tipped the vial back, swallowing the potion himself. He tossed the tiny bottle aside. "Now you have to take me," he said.

Cosette screamed, and Winifred dropped her like a forgotten toy. Javert caught her and set her gently on her feet, but before he could pull Enjolras out of Winifred's reach, she swooped down and snatched him up.

Sarah and Mary pointed at Javert, and he crumpled to the earth like a puppet with cut strings.

Winifred tightened her grip on Enjolras' jacket-- _Grantaire's_ jacket--and lifted him up into the air. She smiled, her face alight with horrible triumph, and she took a long, deep breath.

Enjolras reeled and nearly passed out. He could _feel_ it, the life leaving him, bit by bit, as Winifred breathed in and the other two circled like sharks. Dimly, he heard Cosette shouting up at them, screaming for the witches to stop. But she already seemed to be a thousand miles away.

There was no fight left in him. But Cosette...she'd be all right. That was all that mattered, all that had ever mattered. If he could just hold on until sunrise, the spell would break, and the witches would die along with him. Grantaire would understand too, in the end.

Beyond the cemetery walls, the first orange glint of sun appeared over the horizon.

They didn't seem to realize it, at first. Not until the smoke began to rise from the hem of their skirts.

Sarah shrieked. "Winnie!" she cried out, and then the light seemed to pierce her in a dozen places, and she crumbled to ash.

On Winifred's other side, Mary muttered a quiet, "Uh-oh," and did the same.

But Winifred herself had fed on enough of Enjolras' spirit to cling to life. She drew in another breath, and Enjolras' vision wavered, fading.

The sun rose higher, and Winifred screamed. She dropped Enjolras, calling out for her book, and she burst into flames.

Enjolras hit the ground hard and lay there, dazed. It was over. The sky was brightening with dawn, and he thought maybe he'd earned a break. He closed his eyes.

"Enjolras?"

_Grantaire_. So much for a rest. They were still in the cemetery, he remembered. They needed to get home... He tried to open his eyes and failed.

"Come on, wake up. You're scaring Cosette. Also me."

Enjolras made a heroic effort and opened his eyes to find Grantaire leaning over him.

"Do you need mouth-to-mouth?" he asked. "Because I can definitely--"

Enjolras let out a breathless laugh. "I'm okay, I think." He still felt shaky, but the horrible, yawning emptiness was gone. "Cosette?"

"I'm good," she said weakly.

Enjolras levered himself upright, needing to see proof. The motion left him dizzy, and he would have fallen backwards if Grantaire hadn't caught him around the shoulders. "I'm okay," he said again, waving Grantaire off.

There was blood on Grantaire's forehead, and Enjolras reached out to hold him still. "Oh my god. Are _you_ okay? Do we need to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine. It's just a cut--she knocked the wind out of me, that's all."

Enjolras nodded. "Cosette--"

"I'm really fine," she said, forcing a smile. And she looked all right, for someone sitting next to a dead zombie. " _You're_ an idiot, though. Why would you drink the potion?"

"What are big brothers for?" Enjolras countered.

She rolled her eyes, and then she frowned, looking around the cemetery. "Wait, where's Eponine?" She climbed to her feet. "Eponine? Eponine, where are you?" She started wandering between the graves, looking for any sign of the cat.

Grantaire stood up and held out a hand to help Enjolras. He was grateful for the support, but he found to his immense relief that his legs would hold him up. They followed Cosette as she wandered, calling out for Eponine.

"I don't think this is going to end well," Grantaire said softly.

Enjolras couldn't help but agree, especially as they made their way back towards the shady corner where Gavroche was buried.

There was a small black form lying at the base of his gravestone.

" _Eponine_!" Cosette broke into a run and knelt beside the grave.

Enjolras knew before he reached her that there was nothing to be done. The spell had broken at last, and Eponine was gone. He knelt down next to Cosette and laid a hand on her shoulder. "She's free now," he said.

Cosette sniffed. "I didn't even get to say good-bye."

"What's this about good-bye?" a voice asked.

They looked up to see a girl around Enjolras' age, standing in front of them in a long grey dress. Her dark hair was pulled back in a heavy plait, and her eyes were the same golden green as a cat's.

She was ever so slightly transparent.

"E-Eponine?" Cosette whispered.

She smiled. "Here I am."

"Are you okay?"

"Better than I have been in _centuries_ ," she replied.

Cosette glanced from the ghost to the black cat and back again. "Did it hurt?"

"Not a bit."

"Oh." She nodded. "Okay, that's good."

Eponine looked at all three of them in turn. "Thank you all. If it weren't for you, I don't think I would ever have been free of the witches' curse." She turned a wry look on Enjolras. "As for you, you're still a fool. But thank you for lighting the candle."

He laughed. "You're welcome, I think."

A child's voice sounded from the cemetery gates. "Eponine? Eponine Thenardier, where have you _been_?"

For a moment, the ghost looked almost afraid. "Gavroche," she breathed. "Can it be?"

A small boy was waiting at the cemetery gates. Shafts of morning sunlight shone through him. "Eponine, are you coming or not?"

She turned back to smile at them one last time. "Thank you," she said again, and then she crossed the cemetery to her brother.

"What _took_ so long?" they heard him complain.

"Oh, you'd not believe me if I told you," she began. As she took her little brother's hand, they slowly faded away into the morning.

Cosette sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. Enjolras turned away, to give her a moment, and found Grantaire sitting very close beside him. Grantaire smiled and lifted one hand to settle on Enjolras' cheek.

"Wow. That's a really beautiful sunrise," Cosette said.

Enjolras darted the merest glance to the east. "Yeah," he said, leaning towards Grantaire. "I'll catch the next one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, everybody.
> 
> This is almost certainly the most ridiculous thing I've ever posted--thanks for following along.
> 
> Come and say hi on [tumblr](http://thelibrarina.tumblr.com)!


End file.
